The Glass Knot
by v4lkyrie
Summary: Rosemary MacManus knows her brothers can be a handful but she wouldn't part with them for the world. What happens when a bar fight sends their lives into chaos? How can family ties so strong become so fragile? Based on the events in BDS I & II
1. Chapter 1: March 17th

Disclaimer: Yeah, yeah I don't own the characters we all know and love, this is just for fun and to exercise my creative writing. Enjoy!

_One: March 17__th _

"Hey Fuck Ass, get me a beer!"

The ambient drunken banter of McGuinty's erupted into laughter and hands reached out in warm welcome of the familiar voice. Rose MacManus grinned as Rocco's arm wrapped around her neck just briefly enough to plant a chaste kiss on her cheek on his way to her brothers. Murphy reached leaned back and snagged his sweater pulling him in to pat him on the back as Connor shifted down a seat to make room. Rose almost instinctively placed another round before them before wading through the crowd to take more drink orders. A few verses of Whiskey in the Jar over the speakers sent the entire crowd into a drunken frenzy of slurred verse. She laughed to herself as a few regulars attempted what looked like river-dance to the chorus of singing voices. The pretty girls alongside them shook their heads in embarrassment but laughed all the same, shying away when a hand was offered to them.

Rosie went to them against better judgment, figuring she'd rescue them from the drunken stupor of their beaus. In truth she would have loved to watch the awkward little things get hauled onto the dance floor, if for no other reason than they'd enjoy it. Finding raising her voice over an Irish crowd an exercise in futility, she pointed to the empty glasses on the table. The girls nodded and seemed more than thankful for the intrusion. Snaking her way through the human obstacle course, she made her way back to the bar.

As the night wore on the patrons shambled out, most hanging off their buddies or being hauled out by girlfriends. The floor was littered with bottles, beer, and a few dozen muddy footprints. By closing time there sat only six. Doc nodded for her to take a seat and she obliged him with a sleepy smile. Rocco stood up and dusted off his seat, presenting it to her as a throne.

"For the lady…" She snorted but took the offer gratefully and wrapped her arms around her two brothers. Doc slid a pint toward her and she drank it greedily.

"Jesus, I've not seen a lady who can drink like tha'" Murphy teased, elbowing Rocco.

"Shut it." She replied with a small grin and began sipping the dark broth.

"Aye, shut it." Connor repeated, swatting the back of Murphy's head with a giggle. He reached to hit his twin back much to the humor of the men around them but was interrupted by a sharp elbow jab from Rose.

"Listen boys…" Doc started, his wrinkled eyes tired and weepy. "I've got some very bad news. I'm going to have to close down t-t-the bar. The Russians are putting up buildings all over the city, including this one. FUCK! ASS! And their not letting me renew my lease."

Rose blinked before putting down her glass, near losing her thirst. "Doc…why didn't ya tell me? We coulda worked somethin' out." She frowned looking into the bottom of her glass unable to face the sad old man who had given her and her brothers so much.

"Aye, Rosie's a month away from being a certified paralegal, Doc." Connor glanced at her with only a hint of pride betraying his troubled features.

"Or y'know lemme talk to my boss." Rocco cut in.

"Aye, fuck. What in the hell's your boss gonna do?"

"Listen fellas. I don' wan' anyone ta know. Rosie I'm sorry, but it just ain't the way to be goin' about this."

A solemn silence fell over them and the bar seemed to look a lot bigger, a lot more empty. Memories flooded through the minds of the MacManuses and Rose couldn't help but hold a certain reverence for her green apron that had been stained time and time again from spills she had made in her earlier days at the bar. She shook off the nostalgia before it manifested itself in tears and raised her pint. "To McGuinty's. To Doc!"

"To Doc!" The bar echoed and as the last glass was downed the tired murmur picked up along the bar-side.

After a few drinks, Rose had found herself in yet another debate over the pronunciation of the word 'epitome' with Rocco. It was a petty argument and she figured he had just wanted to get a rise out of her like her brothers so often did. They had nearly agreed when the door creaked open and three large men sauntered in. Her gaze flashed to them the taller one bald with thick eyebrows in a black suit and burgundy tie and shirt. The one closest to Murphy in an obnoxious blue and yellow sport coat and dress shirt combo and the one closest to Connor also bald but looking like a throwback from the 70s. The bald one spoke first pulling off a leather glove finger by finger.

"I am Ivan Chekov and you vill be closing, now." His tone was haughty and his eyes nonchalantly aggressive.

Rose looked at Connor and Murphy quickly, gauging their reaction. Almost instinctively she went behind the bar and stood near Doc. As she checked his face for any sign of trouble she could hear Murphy faintly muttering a joke about his last name to which the entire bar flared with laughter.

"I'm in no mood for discussion. You, you stay. The rest of you, go now."

Rose shook her head as Chekov's fat finger pointed at Doc. She remained behind the bar near him, defensive. He patted her shoulder in assurance not removing his eyes from the large man. She huffed and began washing out pint glasses all the while keeping her eyes and ears on the conversation.

"Get the fuck outta here." The old man spat. Rose couldn't help but stifle a fit of laughter at her ornery employer.

Connor grinned too offering him a smoke and drink, talking around the cigarette in his own mouth. Murphy encouraged him patting the large man's shoulder in confidence. He didn't respond well and smacked the glasses from the boy's hands. The conversation the three had with their mother flashed into Rose's mind.

"_No scrappin'"_

"_Yes mother."_

"_Promise me boys. Rosemary MacManus you make sure."_

"_Yes, ma." They said in unison._

Connor's temper flared and Rose could see it. He had tried his damndest to be civil all the guys had, but the Russians were relentless. Murphy looked back briefly at Rose as if in need of confidence. She knew better, but the three of them could have full out conversations with just their eyes in only a second. It was one of those moments.

"_Ya think Ma'll be mad?"_

"_nah, they're asking fer it."_

Rocco jutted in as a final attempt to lighten the mood. His commie-joke was received with a headshot and he dropped to the sticky floor. Rose's eyes flared and insults poured from her lips. She rushed around the bar toward Rocco just as she heard Russian spill from her brother's mouths. She could only imagine the look on Chekov's face. Almost instantly the bar was in an uproar. Connor, Murphy, and the rest of the boys leaped on the Russians pummeling them with hard and precision aimed fists. She knelt beside Rocco and helped him up as Murphy was thrown into the wine cabinet. Her heart raced as the now winded Murphy's face distorted. She got Rocco to his feet and removed her heels ready to jump in at any moment. They watched as a Russian fist collided with Murphy's cheek. He didn't take it well and Rose saw his eyes flutter. Starting across the bar toward her brother, over the struggle she heard Conner's voice.

"Rosie, leave him alone he can take care of himself!" She knew better, at least she wanted to but as rage flooded her cheeks she remained.

As if on cue Murphy drew two large bottles from the rack behind him and swung them into the Russian's head, he was thrown into a mirror and slumped to the ground. Murphy shook off the glass and jumped back into the skirmish. In a matter of minutes the fighting was over. Doc had been swinging his fists in excitement and Rocco nursed his soon to be black eye with a sling full of ice. Breathing heavily and slightly battered, Connor and Murphy laughed with hooked arms and danced around the subdued peons.

"You're real funny y'know tha?" She scoffed at Rocco, partially relieved. "What the fuck were you gonna do?"

"Hey Rosie, c'mon. It was a joke."

"Yer an idgit. Worse than those two boneheads."

Connor stopped suddenly and a grin came over his face, Murphy must've sensed it too and in a few moments the patrons hauled Chekov onto the bar. He was dazed and only struggled a little as they bound his arms and legs. Rose watched with amazement and quickly scurried behind the bar. She snatched a bottle of Hennessy, and poured a snort between Chekov's bushy eyebrows before tossing it to Connor. Newly lit cigarette in hand he crinkled his brow in admiration of the fine choice she had made. He and Murphy nodded and she grinned in triumph. Connor sprinkled the rest of the bottle across Chekov's large ass before handing the bottle back to Rose.

"Murph, will ya do th'honours?"

Murphy struck a match and watched as the flames consumed the seat of the Russian's pants. They howled in laughter as the large man came alive thrashing about screaming death threats to the three of them. After a few moments they beat out the flames and the smell of burning flesh filled the bar.

"Jesus, that's a nasty wound y'got there." Rosie mocked, crouching down to face their victim. "Guess you'll be thinkin' twice about comin' 'round here anytime soon."

"You're fucking dead. You, your family, and this shithole of a bar."

"Keep talkin' ya big bastard, be thankful this little angel gave ye a shot first." Murphy growled.

Eventually they had managed to knock him out and leave him to the alley. He was a mass for the three MacManuses to haul but with the help of the other peons who had retired to licking their wounds in fear of suffering the same fate as Chekov the Russian threat had been extinguished.

"Well. That certainly was an interestin' evenin' aye Murph, Rosie?"

"Aye." He rubbed the back of his head thoughtfully. "Suppose they'll be back?"

"Wouldn't doubt it."

"Can't tank ya enough boys, Rose."

"Don't mention it. Where the hell else are we gonna spend our checks?" Rocco chuckled slapping Doc on the shoulder.

Rose rolled her eyes and glanced at the clock. Nearly four. Wednesday was a cruel night for St. Patty's and she knew her and the boys would feel it the next day. Rocco stumbled a bit but managed to pull himself together enough to walk home. Connor and Murphy continued talking with Doc; the two had been given the gift of gab and it surfaced at all the wrong moments.

"C'mon boys get goin', Doc and I've gotta clean this place up."

"Nah Rosie, go on. Ya've got school, get your rest."

"You sure?"

"Go on. Make sure those boys get in safe and sound."

She smiled at Doc and hauled her brothers out the door. They more or less stumbled home, laughing hysterically at the Russian and how Rocco somehow managed to put his coat on backwards and upside down.

"Ah, it all makes sense now." Murph slapped his forehead in realization before pulling the cigarette from his mouth. "No wonder you an' Donna get on so well"

"Aye, I'll bet they shared the same bus too!" Connor slurred wrapping an arm around Rocco's neck. He sighed in defeat before submitting to the infectious laughter of the twins.

Rose remained silent, exhausted and was thankful her brothers only got out with a few scrapes. As Rocco split for his apartment she kicked him in the ass before hugging him.

"Don't do anything stupid like that again, ya fuckin' retard."


	2. Chapter 2: Thursday

_Alright, I'm aware that the loft Connor and Murphy live in has open showers in the movie so I had to use a bit of tweaking to make this scene work. Also, now that all my papers are done for the year I'll be updating more often._

_Much thanks to JokerSmile for the inspiring review and subscription!_

Two: Thursday

Rose turned over on the sweat-stained couch and grunted as the warm sunlight invaded her slitted eyelids. Her head throbbed from hangover and she cursed herself for opening her eyes. The boys were snoring and their bodies lay sprawled across the mattresses. The stale smells of smoke, sweat, and meat permeated the loft. She took a whiff of the large grey t-shirt Murphy had leant her and nearly gagged. Never again would she take having a washing machine for granted. Groaning, she got to her feet testing the severity of her hangover with her pounding temples. It subsided easily enough and she padded her way to the washroom.

Relieved to be free of her brother's filthy clothing she tossed the shirt in the corner and turned on the water. The showerhead squealed alive and fluctuations of hot and cold water hissed down on her. Steam curled around her head and almost instantly the throbbing eased away. She remained there for a few moments longer after washing her hair and scrubbing her skin with a questionable bar of soap. Her muscles relaxed and she giggled marveling at just how quickly things had gotten out of hand.

She reached for a towel that looked far past its prime and wrapped it about herself. As she turned off the water she heard a loud bang and muffled angry screaming coming from the other room. Her heart caught in her throat and her hands went cold. She had hoped it was only the boys messing around but the distinct accented voice that roared above their cursing convinced her otherwise. Her mind raced. Slowly she opened the door a crack, deftly turning the knob so as not to make a sound. Through the slit she could see two large bandaged men take each of her brothers. She crouched down, hand still on the knob keeping the door open and scanned the room for a weapon finding only empty beer bottles and a plunger. Only her brothers would be drinking whilst taking a shit.

Her hands grabbed the smooth black neck of the bottles and she waited. Connor was thrown into an old toilet of which the boys hardly used since the new washroom and plumbing was installed. They were out of sight from where she watched but could hear the Russian screaming at him to cuff himself followed by the faint click of the lock mechanism. There was silence for a few moments as the large body of Chekov disappeared from her line of vision. Murphy remained still; she could see his housecoat bunched around the nape of his neck and the small but distinct black muzzle of a gun at his temple. Suddenly Connor's voice ripped through the stale air crying Murphy's name. She could barely see him aside from a few flailing limbs. She caught a whimper in her throat and let a tremor of desperation run through her. If she ran out now when the two Russians were separated she'd be shot – but what if there were more than just to two of them?

It was a risk she'd have to take.

Deafened by her bated breath and the blood rushing through her ears, in a few untraceable moments Rose lost herself. The Russians came together and started shoving Murphy toward the door. Connor's voice reached a crescendo and she could sense the heartbroken reaction of whatever Chekov had told him. Breathing and tightening her grip around the bottles she kicked the door open. A few heavy, running footfalls measured by the rapid pace of her heart and she swung the bottles into the surprised faces of the Russians. Glass and blood spattered across the room as their faces twisted in pain and surprise. The man holding Murphy released his grip and fell to the ground as the fresh wound alongside his head from the wine bottles was reopened. Chekov snarled and fell to his knee, almost dropping his gun. Connor was still screaming, throwing himself shoulder-first against the old toilet tank. Blood began to soak his already filthy housecoat and he shrieked in anguish, helpless.

Murphy instinctively jumped in front of Rose as Chekov climbed to his feet. She hadn't really thought of what to do after the bottles and was more thankful that no one else had accompanied the two Russians. Murphy dropped his heel on Chekov's shoulder to keep him down and balled his fists. Unseen, the other Russian took him down unawares and Rose backed away as Chekov dizzily rose to his feet.

"You think this is game little girl?" He growled.

Rose took a step back; she balanced her hips and kept her knees bent trying not to let her face betray her intentions. If he thought she was helpless she'd have the element of surprise. Connor and Murphy had taught her how to fight since she was small and it never failed to get her out of a scrap with her brothers or a sticky situation with the bar patrons. She hunched over just a bit keeping her elbows bent around her head to protect herself lest he strike first. Murphy began a scrap with Chekov's crony and out of the corner of her eye she could see the proximity of the gun to Murphy's feet.

"Use your brain little one." Chekov crooned as he advanced nodding toward his comrade, "Vladdy may not be as to your brother kind as I vill be to you".

Connor was screaming grew more and more haggard, trying to free himself from the toilet as his siblings were descended upon.

"Rose, don't be fuckin' stupid. He's got a gun."

Chekov chuckled and started for her. Almost instantly her hands clapped around his fat head in a clinch and brought her knee into his solar plexus. She was small compared to him, but quick and flexible. Winded and enraged he snatched her knee in midair and tossed her small body into the wall nearest to Connor. She slid and hit the piping mutely. Her head felt heavy and her tongue thick as she tried to get to her feet. She became painfully aware of the towel she was wearing that had loosened and was more or less now draped rather than wrapped about her. Connor rammed himself harder into the tank and she could see the bolts loosening as plaster chipped from the porcelain. She met his's blue gaze knowingly but failed to hear his words. A strong hand snagged her hair and hauled her to her feet. Reefing on the wet mass to twist her head towards his face he gave a throaty laugh as she squirmed.

"You know why I fucking come here?" He breathed. "First I come to kill your brothers, but now I think I find better prize. Many men would kill to own a thing like you…if only for a few minutes." He grabbed her arm and the towel fell from her body.

Her brothers were livid and their mouths foamed with curses. Shame flushed in her freckled cheeks and her blue eyes fell to the floor. Before he could harass her anymore Vladdy, who held Murphy facedown into his mattress intervened.

"Ivan, we've wasted enough time already." He nodded toward the towel.

Chekov pinched her neck stealthily before rewrapping her and jutting the gun barrel into the nape of her neck. His comrade hauled Murphy to his feet and they were led from the room leaving Connor squawking their names. She could hear him sobbing and tried to look back but was blocked by Chekov who shoved her along.

"Fuckin' watch it man." Murphy growled shrugging off his housecoat and wrapping it around her small shoulders staring down the larger man.

Murphy's fingertips grazed Rose's as they were led down the stairwell. Part of her hoped the other residents would react to the commotion but her logical side scolded the idea knowing it would only end in bloodshed. She could feel her heartbeat pulsing through her body, from her bare feet to her fingertips. Murphy whispered something so softly she was unsure if she even heard it at all. _"Be brave, love."_

Silent tears threatened to break her calm composure. They were led out the fire exit to the back alley. The crisp morning air nipped at her and the Russian's grip on her arm tightened. Murphy was led away from her, forced to his knees before Chekov. She struggled against Vladdy reaching futilely for her brother as he faced the gun. His fingers hooked to her cheek and yanked backwards to mute her.

"Scream again and I don't give you the pleasure of watching."

She trembled and hot fat tears rolled down her cheeks. Murphy's bare shoulders wrinkled as he leaned back and looked to the sky. She could see his lips moving in silent prayer and her knees buckled to the asphalt. Her chest heaved and barely felt the gravel cut into her flesh as the impact of her sobs overcame her.

"I hope your conscience is clear, Irishman." Chekov laughed darkly as his finger grazed the trigger.

Rose moaned struggling for freedom barely raising her head in time to see the giant porcelain bomb drop on Chekov's head. Almost simultaneously a gunshot barked from his gun sending the nearby dumpster flying back a few inches into the brick wall. A large weight fell on her followed by another gunshot and for a few moments she was sure she had died. Reassurance came when she forced her eyes open and her body to move away from the heavy weight of the Russian on top of her. As her vision came into focus she saw Connor, still cuffed and unconscious rolled onto his back by Vladdy. Scrambling to her feet in confusion she tied the belt of the housecoat and began to run just as Murphy began striking the bleeding Vladdy with the tank lid. He grunted with every swing until the Russian's head caved in. His twitching legs were the last sign of life.

"Are you alrigh'?" He panted dropping the slab to hold her briefly.

"Aye…"

"Good. We've gotta get outta here." He knelt over his twin and slapped his cheeks a few times "Connor. Con, c'mon yer alright."

Against better judgment Rosie dug around the pockets of her former attackers. She confiscated a few money clips, gold jewelry and the two large guns tossing them into an old yellow gift bag that had seen better days. Failing to rouse Connor, Murphy hoisted him over his shoulder and the two padded swiftly down the sidewalk.

Connor had come to as they arrived just outside of the clinic. As Murphy carefully let him down to his feet his, twin's knees wobbled but he was able to stand. He wrapped an arm around Rose and kissed her forehead lovingly, thankful that she was alive.

"Take Connor inside, I've gotta make a call."

She nodded and took her wincing brother into the large building. Sitting him down on the closest chair she could see the damage he had caused himself. Blood fanned from the shoulder of his housecoat to the sleeve, she was sure the material was jammed into the wound and the doctors would have an awful time getting it out. After quickly giving their names to the desk she walked back to him refolding Murphy's robe around her. Connor's face looked pale under all the dried blood and she squeezed his hand before taking a seat beside him.

"I'm alright, stop yer fussin'." He winced as he shifting his weight.

"Yeah, from all that blood ya look alright, ya idgit."

"Rosie, we're alive, isn't that enough? Just relax now." She could hear the fatigue in his voice and retired from scolding.

As she looked around she could see the damaged bodies that had swarmed the waiting room and was sickened by it. A little boy whimpered as his mother pet his head singing softly to him as the dripping pool of blood beneath him kept time. Beside them two nuns sat around a third rubbing her back in consolation. Her habit was shredded and her eye blackened. Beside Connor, what would have been a pretty girl save for the bloodied face and knees cried softly flinching as she dabbed her eyes with tissue. Cold rage reverberated through her and her hands shook.

Connor glanced at his sister noticing the gash along her hairline. "But Jesus Rosie. You should've just stayed in the bathroom."

Disgusted, her eyes flared at him. "An' let you two be killed?"

"We can take care of ourselves. The last thing we need is Ma shittin' down our throats because we let you get killed."

"Mother of God." She groaned slapping a hand to her forehead. "Connor, I wasn't just gonna sit there and watch them fuckin' execute the two of ya. Although maybe I should've – if I knew I was gonna catch this much grief. B'sides who are you to be lecturing me? You jumped out a window for Christ's fuckin' sake."

"To save yer fuckin' arses."

"Well pardon me. If ya wanted validation as a hero 'a sorts you should've said somethin'."

For a time they said nothing letting their tempers simmer. The mother of the boy lost her composure at the child's condition. Her eyes welled with tears and began calling for the nurse's help. Most of her cries fell on deaf or helpless ears. The boy's eyes were open but dim, as he tried to adjust himself she could see the large puncture wound on his small belly.

"Listen love, I just don't ever want ya to be in a situation like that again because of us. There was no control, who knows what they could've done to you. I'm sorry Rosie."

She looked at him almost in awe as her rage subsided. Of the two Murphy was always the one checking on her, calling her once a week on behalf of both of them to make sure she was doing alright. He was the first to apologize and the last to blame her for anything. He spoiled her and both Connor and Rose knew it. While Connor, as much fun as he was when they went out and as much as she loved him always showed her tough love. He showed her discipline and though she might fight him at first, she listened. In a way, she was sure it made him proud. If a distinction could be made between them, Connor was the more rational of the two. She nodded slowly and sunk into her chair, her head beginning to throb.

Murphy strolled in looking half-insane. His bare toned shoulders were dusted with freckles that mapped his body down to the thin boxers. He looked ridiculous in his underwear and loosely tied boots. As exposed as he was, he sauntered in and raised his arms in jest at his siblings to announce himself, aware of his mostly uncovered body.

"Doc's on his way." He took a seat and his face crumpling, acknowledging the poor souls around them. Turning to his brother a grin returned. "How ya doin' there Superman?"

"Shut it."

Connor went to swat his twin but was restricted by the cuffs resulting in cascading laughter from Murphy. Rose couldn't help but smile to herself as her brothers bickered. Eventually they were stitched up and met Doc at the entrance door. He embraced Rose and patted the boys on the shoulders. Worry was evident in the old man's twitching face as he dug out a small business card from his pocket. His bushy white eyebrows furrowed as he spoke.

"A man came to the pub earlier and he gave me his c-c, he gave me his c-c - Oh he fuckin' gave me this. Fuck! Ass!" He jerked his head. "What are you three gonna do?"

"Turn ourselves in." Connor shrugged. "Tell him it was self-defense."

"yeah, t-that's what he said." Doc nodded.

"How the fuck does he know that? We haven't spoken to anyone yet…" Murphy said rubbing the back of his head.

A troubled look shadowed the faces of the MacManuses and for a brief moment Rose caught a glimpse of their tattoos. Veritas and Aequitas; truth and justice. Come what may, she always took courage in those words.


	3. Chapter 3: Agent Paul Smecker

_To my readers, subscribers and reviewers__: Thank you all so much for all the continued support, I'm absolutely thrilled everyone is enjoying so far! For better or worse, keep the reviews coming!_

_These chapters are getting easier and easier to write – I'm amazed I got this much done in two days. That being said I think I'll be updating every 3 to 5 days just to make sure I've got all my ideas straight and it reads well. Hope everyone doesn't mind a few quotes from the movie here and there._

_I hope you're all excited for the __real __action to start in the next few chapters! Enjoy!_

_Three: Agent Paul Smecker_

Paul Smecker dragged his hand down his face as he stormed through the station. The clowns that made up the Boston police department were making a mockery of the entire justice system. They adored the press. The jackals that jumped on every moment of human misery had always been a thorn in his side. He figured the barrel-assed donut munchers of Boston's finest liked the publicity. No wonder South Boston was festering with crime, from the petty thugs to the syndicates - the whole network was corrupt. If people thought their trusted police department was working toward solving these crimes they'd have sympathy for them rather than spite. They'd have faith that the criminals would be brought to justice, even if that justice only lasted a night. Or worse, the story would get misconstrued and the men they hunted would be defended by public opinion. Such was the case today; Irish neighborhood, St. Patty's, dead mobsters and metaphorical heroes triumphing over evil. It sickened him how grossly misinformed the media was and how the public followed it like cattle. As he paced up and down the aisles of desks he had a sneaking suspicion that half of the men in the room were being paid off; the apathetic looks on their faces, the scoffing sarcasm, and the evasive eye contact practically confirmed it.

"These guys are miles away by now."

Smecker sucked in his teeth in frustration before turning to Greenly. The rookie's feet rested casually on his desk and his hands were folded comfortably behind his neck. A cynical half-mouth grin folded the dimples of his left cheek. Every theory the pretentious bastard came up with was worth a laugh. He glanced at the overconfident detective planting his fists on his hips and cocking his head to the side, more caught up with the ignorance of his speech than the content.

"…Just drag a potato through south Boston."

Connor slung his arms around his siblings as he hopped up the front steps of the station. He would've killed for a drink, a cigarette, anything to take off the edge. He grimaced as the impact of each stair ground the joints in his knees. McGerkin wasn't going to be happy but he was sure Murphy would explain what happened, if he hadn't already. He could hear Rose huffing, her eyes cold and determined. He was angry. Angry at the Russians for what they had whispered to him, angry at the fact he saw his sister naked. Angry that he couldn't, wouldn't take pleasure in their deaths. Murphy held the door as they made their way through the entrance. The whir of the fluorescent lights roused Rose's hangover from dormancy and she groaned as they shambled in.

"You'd have better luck with beer." Murphy chuckled nudging Connor.

Smecker's eyes ignited with intrigue as the three bandaged figures crossed his line of vision beyond Greenly. Almost as soon as the words had left his lips Greenly swung himself around on the chair and pinched his eyes shut in defeat. He shook his head and looked up to Smecker, humbled yet again by the agent's cunning.

Smecker led the MacManuses into a small room near the back of the station. He motioned for them to take a seat and slid a package of cigarettes toward them. A box of donuts and a coffee pot sat on a small table in the corner. He couldn't help but utter a small chortle at the cliché. His eyes fell on the three before him. The boys one dark haired, one light both with tired blue eyes seemed to analyze him right back. Their marvelously toned bodies were wracked with damage; the blonde with bloodied bandages around his wrists and shoulder revealed through the crimson-stained robe. The darker haired one looked relatively injury-free save for a bump on his brow and cuts along his knuckles. The girl looked like she had been roughed up. They were clearly related. Those eyes were unmistakably similar. Her pixie-like strawberry-blonde hair matched her freckles perfectly and the angles of her face had potential for a pretty face but it was betrayed by the clear fatigue, forming bruises, and running makeup. Too quickly Smecker began trying to piece together the events of the previous night and the part she might've played. He had thought there was only two.

Connor shook out two cigarettes and passed one to his twin. Lighting it and inhaling deeply, he managed to slouch in his seat with little difficulty and he began to feel like himself again. Murphy leaned forward on the table elbow bent to accommodate the smoke eyes keen, watching Smecker.

"I've got some questions for you three as I'm sure you've guessed." He watched them nod and started for the button on the tape recorder before proceeding.

"Excuse me, sir." Murphy cut in quickly tapping the machine. "Can you hold on a second?" Smecker nodded and narrowed one eye in interest.

"What do we tell him about the guns and money?" Murphy asked, French spilling from his lips, fluent and articulate.

"Bum must've picked them up after we left." Connor shrugged, replying in Italian.

Rose's German was lacking but she managed a few words, "Maybe someone said something slipped it to the press?"

"Not in our neighborhood Rosie, they mind their own pretty well." Murphy spoke Spanish slowly, making sure she understood him properly.

"He's sharp." Connor grinned at Smecker, flicking the ash from his cigarette. "Okay we're ready."

Already Smecker was impressed. It seemed a strange opportunity for the three to exhibit their language skills but he took it in all the same. People were nervous in interrogations, it happened. Besides, he could always get it translated if their story didn't check out. He tapped the small recorder in his pocket.

"No need to be apprehensive." He smiled. "Just tell me what happened. How about we start with the bandages?"

One by one the MacManuses retold their story each filling in details the other forgot. A smile played on Smecker's lips as they spoke, his face shifting between astonishment and anger. He folded his arms as Connor reenacted his being bound to the toilet but was distracted by his furrowed brow and shifting eyes beyond the blinds. Smecker turned around and noticed a small gathering of officers listening and peeking into the room to catch a word of the conversation. He raised a finger to the MacManuses to excuse himself and opened the door, snarling at the vultures that hovered around the room.

"The fuck is this? Kindergarten? Get the fuck out of here!" The group scattered and as he slammed the door he heard echoes of laughter coming from the three across the table. He sighed and smiled, infected by their contagious laughter.

"So what do you three do?"

"Well, Connor and I work at McGerkin's Meats just on 9th line?" Smecker nodded vaguely recalling the place from the cab on his way in. "An' Rosie here's actually studying law right now." Murphy pulled her in roughly, pride setting him aglow. "Atta girl." Smecker's eyebrows rose wrinkling his smooth forehead, impressed. "But what are you two doing working at a friggan meat packing plant?"

They shrugged, Connor taking a bite out of one of the slimy looking donuts that he had grabbed from the coffee stand adjacent to him. It was a bit of an awkward question. Murphy and himself being illegal immigrants wouldn't exactly close their case smoothly. They had followed her to America when she had announced her acceptance to school. A decision that more or less assumed than asked for. Connor kept his eyes on his sister for a time allowing the memory to resurface momentarily. Rose would be fine, he figured her student visa and academic background would rule her out pretty quickly. The boys however with no background in the Boston police system, in any system in America, would have suspicion looming over their heads. Deportation or jail time weren't exactly their ideas of a vacation and they had a hard time letting Rose go a week without checking in.

"They're helping me through school." Rose cut in before Smecker could get suspicious of her brothers' inaction. "In this city they're lucky they can find anything." Connor smiled at her quick thinking and shrugged his shoulders.

Before Smecker could respond a heavyset cop flung the door open and trotted in heaving. "Agent Smecker, the press is going nuts for these guys. What do you want to do?"

"Well, you aren't being charged, it seems pretty clear cut to me." He smiled reaching a hand out to each of them to shake theirs. "It's up to you. What do you guys think? Wanna talk to them?"

"Absolutely not, no pictures, no nothin'." Connor shook his head dashing the cigarette.

Murphy nodded and stood up. "Can we stay here?"

Smecker snickered as the cop grew giddy with the excitement of being close to these new 'heroes'. He looked to the three and saw their faces struggle against laughing at the unusually eager officer. "We've got an extra holding cell, you guys can stay in!" He squeaked.

They stifled a giggle and got up from their seats. Smecker shook their hands again offering a smile before buttoning up his blazer and muttering something about the sharks of the Boston press.

Rose sighed, swooning with relief. "I've gotta get back to my flat. Can't miss another day at school." She smiled gently after Smecker before turning to the twins. "I can run by the place and grab some clothes for ya boys."

"Tha'd be great Rosie. Call Roc, tell him to go with ya." Connor said in a fatherly tone. She groaned and jammed her thumb into his raw shoulder. He squawked in pain and attempted to throw the ashtray at her. She deflected it easily enough and made a face. "The fuck was that fer?!"

"Serves ya right ya filthy bastard." She giggled.

Murphy hollered laughing and flicked the same wound. "Aye, I thought that smell was from the pigs."

"Yeah, you two are fuckin' hilarious." Connor groaned rubbing his shoulder to ease out the pain.

Rose and Murphy erupted in another fit of laughter when a man dressed in a dark green sport coat sauntered in arms full of clothing. He placed it down in front of Rose and offered a kind smile before introducing himself.

"Detective Duffy. I noticed you three were barely clothed when you walked in, figured I'd get you something warm to wear." His eyes met hers in shy interest before he smiled quickly and went to shaking her brother's hands.

Rose snagged a sweater from the top of the pile. She read the back aloud "Boston Police Department." Looking to her brothers with an almost horrified look. They laughed as she tucked it under her arm along with a pair of socks and pants.

"Hey Rosie, remember when you were a kid and wanted to be a cop?"

"Shut it Connor." She swatted at him before looking to Duffy who started for the door. "Thank you, sir."

Rosie went to the washroom and changed quickly. Slipping the BPD sweater over her head she scoffed. If she walked around the wrong street with this thing on she'd be beaten to a pulp, Irish or not. It had gotten cloudy and windy on their way from the hospital and the robe offered little warmth. Her reflection left something to be desired. Her hair was flat and wavy, her eyes raccooned with makeup, and her cheeks flushed with bruises and hunger. Doing as best she could to clean herself up with a splash of water and a bit of paper towel she headed for the phone.

Rocco met her around the corner from the station. His face was apprehensive but buckled with relief when he saw her. She trotted toward him and they hugged briefly.

"Jesus fucking Christ. Are you alright?" He pushed her away fingers hooking around her shoulders to get a get a better look. "Who the fuck…"

"I'm alright, we're all alright." She said hurriedly growing tired of having to explain herself for the third time in four hours. "Con didn't want me to go alone – hope I'm not keepin' you from anythin'"

Rocco laughed and curled his arm around her shoulders. "There's nowhere I'd rather be than with a girl like you."

She snorted and rolled her eyes. "Can't say I'd say the same," she grinned wryly. "But if they heard you talkin' like tha' you'd have your nuts ripped off. Let's go ya hairy fuck."

The boys' loft was drowned in water. Rosie had guessed the old plumbing hadn't really been cut off completely. The place smelled of mildew, rust, and sewage. Spatters of blood streaked the beds and mixed with the toilet water. A look of amazement was glued on Rocco's face. He walked around the beds toward where the old toilet bowl used to be and shook his head. Rosie grabbed the pile of her clothes she had used as a pillow the previous night as Rocco came back toward her.

"They've got a pile of clothes on that old armchair in the corner. Grab their coats too would ya?"

As she folded her own clothes up she noticed two rosaries hanging from rusty nails that jutted out from the concrete. She picked up each one reverently before looping them around her wrists and fingers. Memories flooded through her and out of an old habit clutched her throat. When she had first come to America she had one identical to these and nearly tortured herself trying to remember what had happened to it. Rocco's heavy footfalls relieved her from her fit of nostalgia. She slipped on her own pair of shoes hissing in pain as the tender flesh beneath her socks and bandages contacted with the leather sole. The adrenaline was going down and the pain had returned in full force. Grinding her teeth against it she shoved everything into a nearby grocery bag and left the loft.

On the way back Rose made a stop at a convenience store. As desperately as she wanted sleep she knew the boys would needing painkillers, bandages, and better food than greasy donuts and coffee. Walking up and down the aisles swiftly she grabbed a few bottles of water, aspirin, and some quick-meal sandwiches from the fridge. As she placed the items on the counter she dug in her purse for the cash.

"Two packs of camels as well, if y'please."

"You spoil them y'know." She looked at Rocco for a few moments as if in question before slapping the twenty down and walking out with him.

When Rosie and Rocco returned to the police station there was a horde of microphones and cameras being rammed into the faces of Smecker and the police chief. They remained behind the masses and waited. Rosie jabbed an elbow into Rocco's ribs to get his attention.

"You sure it's such a smart idea to walk in there?"

"It'll be fine. You worry too much."

"There's already enough charges I'm going to be fighting off for you but you've gotta lay low until I graduate."

"Yeah, yeah." He waved her away. "I'd be more worried about the press drooling over you."

She rolled her eyes.

"The MacManus siblings are not being charged. This was a clear cut case of self-defense." The chief croaked, irritated.

The paparazzi clicked and flashed and the voices rabbled in question. Rose tapped Rocco and nodded toward the door. They slipped through the entrance and were directed down the hall of holding cells. A few men shouted greetings at Rocco and catcalls at Rosie to which she responded with a sharp middle finger. When they arrived at Connor and Murphy's cell they greeted them with a chorus of cheers and ruffled Rocco's mass of hair before rummaging through the bags. Each looking around expectantly, searching. Knowingly Rose unraveled the rosaries from her wrists and presented them to her brothers. She threw the plastic bag with the goodies from the convenience store and winked affectionately. They slipped the rosaries over their necks and exchanged a look that was heavy with gratitude.

After a few hours of half-assedly explaining the events to Rocco between mouthfuls of food and hearing about his encounter with Pappa Joe, the boys flung themselves onto the thin beds. Fatigue and pain drained their bodies of colour. Distinct purplish circles began to form under their ever-smiling eyes. She looked to Rocco and nodded for the exit. As she started to leave Connor grabbed her fingers and she looked at him. Murphy sat up, tossing his black shirt into the corner. They gazed at each other, seemingly lost.

"_I love ya Rosie."_

"_Aye. We both do. Now go on and rest, ye'v done enough."_

She hugged each of her brothers planting a gentle kiss on their cheeks. Rocco gave a quick salute to the boys and they left the station. By the time they arrived at her flat she was exhausted. Nothing seemed more inviting to her right now than her bed. A hot bath and sleep seemed to be the best fix. Deep in thought, the walk home had been silent. She hadn't had a moment of silence since she started decorating the pub last night and even then Doc's whistling had reached her. Rocco walked her to the door and gathered her in his arms.

"Glad you're alright kiddo." Normally she hated when Rocco started talking like that but now it seemed different. She was grateful she could speak to him at all. Genuine concern dripped from his being. Her arms wrapped around his neck and his bearded face grazed her cheek and tickled her nose.

"Me too."

~*~*~

Smecker returned to his hotel room just after 3 a.m. He swayed with drink as he flicked a predatory eye toward the receptionist – a perky little thing, big brown eyes, timid smile; he looked fragile, innocent. Shaking away the thoughts Smecker offered the kid a coy smirk and went to his room. He couldn't wait to get out of Southie.


	4. Chapter 4: Revelations

_There's a bit of jumping around this chapter – I've been thinking about where I want to go with the MacManuses and I figured this was the best way to achieve it._

_For you hardcore Boondock fans__ there's a little discrepancy with the timeline between Connor and Murphy and Rosie's births. You'll probably think me crazy for going into it now but I'd rather make sure all my story tweaks make sense:_

_In the second movie they say Noah (Il Duce) MacManus went to jail just after the birth of Connor and Murphy – yet in the first one he's in jail for 25 years to life and according to the script, Connor and Murphy are supposed to be 27._

_Sooooo… that being said, going by the first movie lets say Rosie would have been just born as Noah MacManus gets nailed, making the boys 2 years older than Rosie.  
(y'know, just incase anyone was wondering… ^_^)_

_Thanks again for the continued support! This is wonderful, you guys are great! Please keep it coming!_

_Four: Revelations_

Rosemary MacManus woke with a start to a clap of lightening. She sat upright, left arm raised and clutching the air. She gasped while her eyes flickered open. Her heart pounded and stomach tightened anxiously as cold droplets fell on her head. Frightened she snapped on the light and wiped her forehead with her sleeve looking desperately around for the source. She blinked her eyes into focus. Connor and Murphy's unmistakable voices whispered through her mind uttering something so profound and lyrical she thought she was still dreaming.

'_Destroy that which is evil…'_

'…_So that which is good may flourish...'_

"…for the wicked shall seek peace and there will be none." She chanted subconsciously. The sound of her own voice roused her awareness.

She tucked in her knees to her chest and held her head in her hands trying to make sense of it all. She squinted at the ceiling trying to find water damage that would explain her suburban baptism. Finding only stucco and cobwebs she stood on her bed to get a closer look. A small tuft of hair fluttered over her vision. As her hand grazed over her brow to bring it behind her ear it remained smooth and her heart caught in her throat.

~*~*~

Connor and Murphy stared at each other in attempt to understand what had happened. They were breathing heavily and more or less in sync with one another. The leaky roof had startled them into consciousness but their speech had left them dumbfounded. Only breath between them, breath and a dream neither one could really interpret. Connor put a hand to his stiff neck expecting a great deal of pain from his shoulder but found none. His wrists no longer stung from the abrasive cuffs and he gazed at them unsure of whether or not to take off the bandages.

"Well, go on then." Murphy breathed with the same somber interest.

Their gaze met again and Connor nodded. The gauze from the hospital was tightly wound around his wrists with such care he almost felt guilty removing them. As the last fold was unraveled his eyes widened and his mouth opened. A gnarled scar made a ring around the soft flesh. There was no rawness to it, no more pain. He showed his twin without taking his eyes off his hands. Seeking further validation Connor ripped off the bandage from his shoulder and jostled it. The bloody patches of sores and bruises that had marred his skin had faded under the smooth skin and it seemed to feel better than it had prior to.

Murphy had a timid look on his face. "Y'might wanna keep those on."

"Aye." He nodded. The last thing they needed was more publicity. Connor could see the headlines now. 'Miracle Befalls Battered Siblings.' "d'ye think Ro-"

"Dunno, man."

A beeping echoed through the cell and Murphy looked at it before tossing it to his brother. The Russian's pager – he had forgot they still had it. As the number flashed across the screen Connor's lips twisted, memorizing it. Déjà vu overcame him and faint recollection of the dream played over in his mind; nine dead, pennies, elevators and air ducts.

"I think we've got a job to do." He said finally but without complete conviction.

As the twins emerged from the hall they were greeted with coffee and several proud pats and nods from the officers. Murphy raised his arms triumphantly but Connor remained placid but determined. He slapped a cuffed man on the back to which he received a barrage of insults and shook the hands of the small gathering of officers. Murphy slapped high fives and gave a boyish grin at their newfound popularity. He was passed a newspaper and a mischievous smirk mocked the headline. "The Saints of South Boston". Pretending to dip his fingers in his coffee he flicked them at the cops and giggled. "Body of Christ, body of Christ!"

The officers slammed their fists into the table faces growing red in laughter. Connor slapped his twin's stomach and went to the payphone mouthing the number over and over until he punched it on the number pad. Before Connor could finish a word a recorded voice began took over and he had to scramble to write everything down. Room 701 Copley Plaza, 9p.m. He tore away the information from the poster he had scribbled it down on and returned to his brother.

~*~*~

Rose tried hard to keep her mind on her criminal psychology lecture. Her professor, a stocky man with dark hair, a finely trimmed beard, and a fantastically morbid sense of humor faded in and out of her conscious mind. Normally it was her favorite class but she couldn't take her mind off of the dream; the vividness of it, the clarity. The three figures in her dream with blackened faces were commanded to purge evil and for whatever reason she felt as though she was one of them. She knew who the other two were and it didn't sit well. She wanted to write it off as delusion or desire for justice but the voice that commanded it was too lucid, ethereal. It frightened her and yet she was compelled to obey it. _Destroy that which is evil so that which is good shall flourish, for the wicked shall seek peace and they shall find none. _As the lecture concluded she closed the empty pages of her notebook and left the hall.

As classes concluded for the day Rose made her way back home to drop off her books before heading to McGuinty's. At twelve the bar held only a few patrons sitting down for a meal. She smiled mindlessly at them before digging around behind the bar for her apron.

"R-Rosie? Tha' you?" Doc's voice called from the kitchen.

"Aye."

"What in the name 'a Jesus are ya doin' back at work?"

Shit. She hadn't thought of that. Doc had seen the damage she had at the hospital, he had told her to take it easy and she felt guilty. "Ah, couldn't stand to be at home, y'know me."

"Maybe a b-b-bit too well." He shook his head. "Yer jus' like yer father back in th'day."

Rose went rigid. She never quite knew how to react when people discussed her father. Even back home the family kept quite about it all, especially Ma. The boys were too young to recall anything but from what she knew he had left home for whatever reason only days after her birth.

Her shift was short but her mind remained absent all the while wishing her reverie would subside. She had to do something. Had to obey the command. It made her anxious and by 5 o'clock she was happy to end her shift.

"Hey listen Doc, d'ya still have that bag?"

He motioned her to follow him into the back office. He presented the bag to her and closed the door. She had no intention of walking around with two 50-caliber handguns and Russian wallets. She only removed the pager and money clips that measured in the thousands before leaving the bag to Doc. "If the boys come by make sure they don't muck around with this."

Doc shot her a curious glance from his magnified eyes. "Be careful missy."

Rosie made her way through Southie eased and experienced. She entered a large warehouse-like building and walked straight on to the anteroom. Shaemus Fitch sat with his back to her before a large workbench he seemed to be cleaning something as he whistled to himself. She padded toward him, taking care not to misstep and give herself away by the creaking floor. She picked up a small silencer barrel from a nearby table and jutted it into his spine. Fighting off the smile that threatened to ruin her whole act, she spoke angrily in Russian.

"We have been after you for long time Shaemus Fitch."

He tensed only momentarily before placing his hands on his lap. Rose knew there were several guns hidden under the table for such an occasion. She had to be careful. She continued with an accent.

"Turn 'round slowly so I can look at snake who's been stealing from our business." For a moment Rose could imagine the woman her voice betrayed and she coughed trying to cover a giggle.

Shaemus turned slowly and she watched his hands. He didn't tremble but rather placed the oil smeared cleaning cloth on the table and let his hands drop to the side of his rolling chair. As his young emerald eyes met hers and saw the gun barrel alone in her hand he caved with laughter. She shrugged and tossed the silencer back to the table giggling herself.

"I tought dat gun mighta felt a little light an' girly." He shook his head allowing his breath to catch up with him. "I could've blown yar 'ead clean off y'know."

She laughed. "Aye, but then Con and Murph would be out for blood." They entered a long embrace and Shaemus looked at her fondly.

"Ya look wonderful." He smiled shyly. "What can I do for ya, miss MacManus?"

~*~*~

Shaemus Fitch didn't expect to see all of the MacManus siblings in one day. Rosie was a treat. Connor and Murphy however, left something to be desired. They had always been a little skeptical of his interactions with their sister and although they were civil with each other, it was strictly for Rose's sake. He began to wonder about their presence until they unloaded the guns and gold on his table. Slapping the large button and light switch behind him the dark, caged room in the corner lit up revealing a treasury of weapons. He held a hand out to welcome them and lit a cigarette, relieved.

"Jesus Christ. I've ne'er seen so many guns." Murphy said in awe.

"Aye, ta make it complete we just need some rope."

Murphy wrinkled his nose and chuckled. "Oh yeah. Cowboy Connor. Are ya fuckin' insane man?"

~*~*~

Connor and Murphy held their duffle bags firmly as they descended the staircase to the Fairmont Copley Plaza. With little trouble they caught the elevator from the basement and rode it up the length of the building. Out of the corner of his eye Connor could see Murphy hopping from foot to foot, shaking his arms to loosen himself up. It was subtle but after twenty-seven years, Connor could sense his brother's doubt. Their eyes met and it steadied Murphy, the hopping slowed to a slight bounce in his knees. Murphy looked around the elevator, trying to focus on one thing or another to distract his twin from asking the question he knew was coming.

"Ya nervous?"

Murphy looked up to the fluorescent lighting, avoiding his gaze. "A bit."

He nodded. "Me too."

As if motivated by each other's apprehension, Connor jabbed his thumb into the stop button on the seventh floor and dropped the duffle bag. Immediately reassembling the guns they had exchanged for the bag of goodies from Doc. Offering a boost, Connor lifted Murphy and the empty bags into the elevator. Murphy reciprocated once on the platform and hauled his brother up by the wrists. They bashed in the grate to a nearby vent and crawled in quickly, shuffling in one after the other. Connor led the way shouldering his way through the maze. He tried to recall the blueprint map he had studied but the heat made him dizzy and disoriented. Murphy followed, panting as he followed his bumbling twin.

"Where the fuck are you goin'?" Murphy grumbled.

"Shut it, I'm thinking."

"Coulda fooled me, we're fuckin' lost and I'm sweating my ass off dragging your rope around!"

"Shut yer fuckin' mouth." Connor barked knocking the butt of his flashlight against Murphy's head. "This is some serious shit!"

"Ah fuck you!" Murphy threw his fist into Connor's head; it was sloppy with the condensed space of the vent but hard enough for him to feel it.

Almost instantly the two began rolling over each other, cursing and striking at whatever they could get their hands on. The rope that was slung over their shoulders tangled around their bodies binding them to the point where they could hardly move. Sweat beaded up on their foreheads and as they caught their breath a drawn out creaking froze them. Metal screeched and they felt themselves fall.

~*~*~

It was by dumb luck that Rose found Rocco at the Copley Plaza. She nearly cried laughing at his bellhop uniform. JAFFAR was scrawled across the nametag and she could see him sweating profusely. As much as she was tempted to razz him for the getup she followed him silently through one of the back rooms. It was strange to her that she knew exactly where she was going. Stranger still was the feel of the gun in her hand.

Rose slid under the rolling serving table that had 701 scrawled on a piece of paper. Looking around her for any unwanted company she tucked her limbs in to make her body as small as possible. She could hear Rocco's nervous footsteps coming toward her and the cart moving in sequence. He began talking to himself as he wheeled into the elevator.

"What the fuck am I doin' here? Fuckin' Pappa Joe. Maybe those cocksuckers will gimme some goddamn respect when I grease the competition. Yeah, two guys. In and out. Easy right? Easy."

~*~*~

Connor and Murphy instinctively grabbed for their guns. They felt themselves shuffle and slide down the shaft as it broke through the ceiling; a glimpse of sheet metal and then the bright white light of the suite. Tangled together back-to-back they drew their guns and pulled the triggers in unison. The silent spit of bullets stung the chests of the Russians nearest to them. Murphy grabbed the large knife and cutting the rope, they fell to the floor. Within seconds eight dead men surrounded them.

The large man who had broken their fall began screaming. Quickly Murphy and Connor dropped him to his knees and the old MacManus family prayer spilled from their lips.

_And Shepherds we shall be,_

_For thee my Lord for thee…_

The fat man pointed to his fallen comrades and desperate tears stung his eyes.

_Power hath descended forth from thy hand,_

_That our feet may swiftly carry out thy command…_

He tried to crawl away but was held firm by each twin's gloved hand on his shoulders. He began begging now, hands folded in a hopeless prayer.

_So we shall flow a river forth unto thee,_

_And teeming with souls shall it ever be._

_E nomine patri, et fili, et spiritu sancti._

The twins ended their prayer and sent the final bullets through the man's head. They pierced his eyes leaving brain matter, blood, and bits of bone in their path. Through the blood and chaos they found each man and left a penny on each eye, folding their arms dutifully over their chests. As they finished the ritual a knock on the door ripped their concentration.

~*~*~

Rocco was nervous as he waited at the door. His right hand was fixed on the six-shooter Pappa Joe had given him. His left around the bar tense and waiting as two sets of footsteps came toward the door. Beneath him Rose's body remained taught, ready to pounce. She exhaled deftly as the door creaked open and the cart jolted forward screams filling the air. The cart didn't fall but Rose could see from beneath the cloth that the carpet was soaked in blood. She felt nervous for the first time since she began the endeavor. Rocco was hollering over two other men and she heard him get thrown to the ground. She pulled the stocking over her face and readied herself.

"Where's your gun?!" Connor shouted trying desperately both not to laugh and not to betray his accent.

Rocco handed them the gun, shaking violently and cried every explanation he could think of. He trembled beneath the two masked men and begged for his life.

"Do him right here, right now!" Murphy barked forcing his gun into Rocco's temple.

"I don't fucking think so." Rosie had slipped out quietly from the cart and padded across the carpet toward the two, ignoring the dead men that scattered the room. She held both barrels against each twin and curled her lips. "Drop 'em." They froze and looked at Rocco unsure just of what to do, slowly turning the boys let the guns fall.

"Lose the masks." She ordered.

Connor and Murphy looked at each other and pulled the balaclavas from their faces and looked into the distorted eyes of their attacker.

Rose laughed when she saw the worried faces of her brothers. Surprise grabbed her and she grew hysterical at the coincidence. The fact that they had beaten her to the Russians hadn't fully set in. The guns in her hands lowered and she giggled holding her sides. Murphy and Connor looked at each other with wondering eyes, hands hovering over the guns. Rose removed her mask and shook her head in disbelief.

"Tha fuck?!" Murphy breathed, eyes wide and furious.

"The look on your faces!" She gasped. "t'ought it was over didn't you?!"

Connor grew angry and yanked his balaclava back on. "This isn't a fuckin' game Rosie, you've got some explaining to do when we get out of here. Let's fuckin' go!"

She kept giggling, more out of relief than out of humor. Offering her hand to the incredibly confused Rocco she helped him up and they fled the room and headed for the elevator. Unmolested they took different exits, found their way to her apartment and unloaded on the couch.

"What the fuck was that?!" Rocco, Connor and Murphy screamed.

"My thoughts exactly." She sighed sinking into the armchair.

"Rosie, what the hell were you doing there?" Murphy looked at Rose with unyielding eyes. "Roc, were you in on this?!"

"No man! No! I dunno what the fuck happened I had no idea she was under there! Alls I know is Pappa Joe sent me in there to off two Russians that were giving him problems and then I'm hurled to the ground confronted by you two er- three fuckin' mics and surrounded by a bunch of dead fuckin' reds!"

"Rosemary." Connor spoke through his teeth using her full name to show her how serious he was. He was trying to harness his anger ignoring Rocco for the time being. "Why were ya there?"

"More importantly, where th'fuck'd you get those fuckin' guns?!" Murphy cut in.

"I can't very well explain it. I had this dream and-" She confessed crossing her arms. "Fitch helped me out – used the Russian's money from the bag. Called the number on the pager…"

"This is heavy shit Rosie, the fuck were you gonna do?" Connor growled.

"Same thing you two did I suppose." The nonchalance of her honesty irked the boys.

"You… Miss 5 foot whatever… You were gonna kill nine fuckin' monster sized Russians with two guns? What about school? What about your fuckin' legal career?" Murphy stood up shouting.

As the three men lectured her Rose grew more and more angry. She hadn't killed anyone, which she was thankful for but the way they spoke she could've sworn she had. Two years apart and they spoke to her as if she were a child. They were furious she could see that, she could understand that but she had her own frustrations with them.

"If yer quite fuckin' finished can I ask a few questions now?" The boys were silent and spat a few curses before allowing her to continue. "First off, you two just SLAUGHTERED those 'nine monster sized Russians.' What the fuck were you two thinking? Suicide?"

"Apparently not." Connor said. "They're dead are they not?"

"Aye, they're fuckin' dead, by some stroke of luck I'd wager. You're lucky you two didn't get killed not to mention their cronies that'll be coming after the killers. Second, it's multiple murder, you two are goin' away for that for sure, how in the hell am I supposed to protect you legally? You're both gonna get deported."

"We ne'er asked for protection. B'sides whose to say we get caught anyway?" Murphy struck a match and lit a crumpled cigarette, knowing it would irritate her.

"Ah yeah little miss lawyer MacManus may I ask what you were gonna do?"

"I know the law well enough ya bastard." She snapped at the blonde who pulled his neck back in disgust.

Rocco groaned distracting the bickering siblings. "Oh man…What the hell am I gonna do? Pappa Joe's gonna have my ass… permanent fuckin' package boy…Or worse, I'm gonna find myself in the bottom of the goddamn Charles with a pair of cement boots!"

Connor, Murphy, and Rose looked at each other for a moment and began a slow bout of laughter. Her brothers hugged her and ruffled Rocco's hair, his face even more confused than when they began.

"You just have to take credit for it Roc." Murphy grinned. "We're not really in this for fame anyway."

"Climb th' corporate ladder boy. _Don_ Rocco… At this rate, you'll give Pappa Joe a run for his money. " Connor slapped him on the back chuckling.

The tension faded near as quickly as it had begun. Rose carefully disassembled her gun the way Fitch had shown her and wrapped it up, placing it under her nightstand. She was thankful Shaemus hadn't given her away to her brothers. She knew they intimidated him and giving them guns was probably an unnerving experience in itself. She'd have to thank him. For now the boys were contented in the fact that she was alive and breathing and she could say the same for them.

As she emerged from the bedroom she pulled out a bottle of Jameson, took a swig and passed it to Rocco. He took the bottle and drank greedily. They began to loosen up and Rose was all the more thankful. The more they drank the more easy conversation became; Connor, Murphy, and Rose explained their reasons and Roc allowed himself to speak his mind, a dangerous thing around the belligerent MacManuses.

"Anyone you think is evil?" He scoffed straddling a chair.

"Aye." The three replied in unison.

"Isn't that a little psycho? Dangerous?"

"Y'know what I think it psycho Roc?" Connor took a long drag and a swig before continuing. "Is decent men with loving families, go home every night from a hard day's work and see rapists and murderers and child molesters getting' outta jail from some loophole in the system…"

"Mafiosos." Murphy continued, glaring at Rocco. "Getting' caught with 20 kilos… getting out on bail the same fuckin' DAY." He snapped his fingers and took a snort of the near empty bottle, infuriated.

"…little kids playing at the park catching bullets from gun fights and havin' the news ignore it or cover it up with something more important." Rosie said softly. Her brothers looked at her in a mix of surprise and agreement.

Rocco sat and thought for a minute. A huge toothy smile emerged from his hairy face. "You guys should recruit!" He slurred, shambling to his feet. "I'm tired of this bullshit man! Motherless rapin' pipe-sucking lowlifes; scum of society man."

"Hallelujah Jaffar." Rose cackled jokingly making the sign of the cross.

Eventually Rocco passed out on the carpet and the three MacManuses were left to their own, drunk. Rose's presence at the scene didn't sit well with Connor and Murphy not to mention her dealings with Shaemus Fitch. It was bad enough that they had blood on their hands.

"Rosie." Murphy said quietly the ash on his cigarette growing toward the filter from negligence. Connor nodded. "How'd ya know where the place was?"

"I didn't." She confessed wearily. "I had this dream and when I woke up it was like I was on this mission. I couldn't stop thinking about it. I knew where everythin' was and exactly what I had to do. The only part that wasn't clear was actually killin' 'em. When you pulled Roc into the room it went blank…"

The twins looked at each other, knowing exactly what she had meant but were unhappy. They remained silent for the next few hours until one by one they grew quiet and tired. Rose passed out on the couch and Murphy tried to rouse her. When he realized she was too drunk and tired from stress he cradled her in his arms and took her to her bed. He threw a blanket on top of her and flicked off the light before returning to Connor.

"I don't want her on anymore 'a these." Connor said finishing the bottle.

"I know." Murphy slid onto the couch and knitted his fingers behind his head, eyes half open. "Try tellin' her that though. If she saw the same things we did I don't think we really have th'authority to tell'er any different."

Connor's grip on the bottle tensed and slackened in defeat. Good old rational Murphy. He knew when Rose set her mind on something it was near impossible to change her mind. He hated the idea of her following them. Hated even more the chance of having to put pennies over her eyes.


	5. Chapter 5: Rocco's Plight

_Sorry for the delay! My heart really wasn't in this one. Having to jump around again to cover everything was exhausting but at the same time I realized that there's just so much important stuff going on at the same time I can't bring myself to cut them out…_

_I spent days rewriting to make this as readable as possible to eliminate any confusion but it's satisfactory. _

_Please keep the reviews coming!_

_Chapter Five: Rocco's Plight_

Rose stumbled into the living room and instantly went to brewing a pot of coffee. The loud snoring of Rocco and her brothers did nothing for her headache. Murphy and Connor's shirts were thrown across the room far from where they lay sleeping. She snorted, wondering how long they fought over who would get the floor. Connor's legs were draped triumphantly over the back of the futon, his brow troubled and mouth slightly agape. Murphy had passed out up near the coffee table, his legs in the fetal position while Rocco had his arms stretched over the table and snored defiantly, the extra flesh of his face being squished against the hard surface. She yawned and yanked open the curtains.

As she bumbled around in the kitchen she could hear them mumbling something back and forth. Stale sweat greeted her as she walked into the living room, the three boys slowly getting up and started smoking with a cup in each hand. They muttered their good mornings in mid conversation and Rose sat herself down between them crossed-legged.

"Roc man…Just think about it. Six bullets, nine bodies." Connor said, exhausted.

Rocco rolled his eyes. "They probably didn't know, I'm pretty sure the Reds and the Romans don't have a fuckin' cocktail parties together plotting to kill some bottom-feeder package boy. I coulda walked outta there just fine."

"You had your hand on the gun when we yanked ya in for Christ's fuckin' sake. This was your big break and they knew it. Is it so hard to think they don't fuckin' care about ya?" Murphy shook his head.

"Aye Roc… they've got a point."

"Oh c'mon Rosie not you too. You three don't know what the fuck you're talking about, it's a family. They take care of their own."

Rose, Connor, and Murphy scoffed. "They knew you weren't comin' outta there alive man."

"Aye, fuckin' right."

"Eh, fuck you guys!" He stood up practically foaming at mouth. "I don't need your patronizing bullshit, I'm the fuck outta here."

Rose stood up and chased him to the door. "Rocco we're just worried about ya. I wouldn't stick out yer neck for them again, doesn't sit right."

The door slammed in response and she returned to her brothers defeated, worried, and angry. Her brothers shook their heads and waved off the frustration. Connor scanned the room until it fell on their pile of coats and shirts. He dug around the mass and pulled out a small nylon case. Rose's eyes lit up and he unzipped it with a curious grin. They were like kids again, unearthing buried treasure. Teasing, Connor faked opening the case until Murphy slapped him. Thousands upon thousands of dollars worth in bills greeted their hungry eyes.

"Looks like your tuition's paid for huh Rosie?" Murphy laughed and smacked her with a stack of bills.

~*~*~

Smecker uttered a sarcastic 'ooh' of amazement as he stepped onto the scene. The blood stained every corner of the suite. He counted the bodies and glared at Greenly holding up nine fingers, raising an eyebrow. The kid groaned, dejected and shied away from him. Paul recognized every man in the room, all Russian mob syndicates; all extremely dangerous. The game was on now; the Italians had presented their retaliation. Each detective had their own theory, which was fine with him; they could tell the press all the lies they wanted. He gave Dolly and Duffy credit for trying, for what they lacked in their theories they made up for in common sense. The Greenly kid though… he couldn't even get an accurate body count for Christ's sake…

~*~*~

Discomfort weighed heavy on Rocco as he walked through the doors of the Lakeview lunch café. He hated when they were right. Hated the fact that he couldn't accept that Yakavetta would sell him out after eighteen years of being a loyal gopher. Why him? Hadn't he put up with enough of their shit? Didn't he do every job they gave him? If it was a joke to play on the 'funny man' he didn't get it. Or didn't want to. He marched through the diner catching glimpses of grins and snide giggles from the familiar faces near the back. Sal looked nervously from Rocco to the two men snorting and gobbling down food. As their eyes fell on him they twitched into a grin.

"Funny man!" Ollie said with his mouth full, food seeping out of the corners of his yellowed smile. "I must be seeing ghosts or somethin'…"

~*~*~

Connor, Murphy, and Rose sat around the house for the bulk of the day flipping through channels in silence. The news had been interesting, sparing few details over the grizzly scene at the Fairmont. 'Nine dead men were found all with connections to the Russian mob. This is the largest massacre in Boston's history…' It was theorized to be an act of war between mob families. If that was their angle Rose and the boys would be safe. She thought of Rocco and the familiar prick of concern stabbed her. Her brothers laughed and slapped each other at their good fortune. They made a crack at her and when she failed to respond the twins grew serious.

"Ah c'mon Rosie, what's your problem?" Connor groaned. Murphy shook his head in warning. "Leave it man. Just leave it."

"I think you should be taking this a little more seriously." Her voice was uncharacteristically calm. "We need to be careful about this."

"What's this 'we' shit?" Connor lowered his eyebrows. "Yer not involved, and yer not gonna be."

"Fuck you I'm not."

"Yer not-" The phone rang before Connor could lose his temper completely. Rosie rushed to her room to pick it up.

"'lo?"

"Rosie, thank Jesus. Can I crash at your place?" His voice was straining to keep calm.

"Yeah Roc sure, y'alright?"

"Can't talk. I'm right outside. Up in a minute."

The line went dead. Within minutes Rocco was at the door sweating profusely and cursing himself to the point of tears. She led him to the couch. Her eyes wide, sensing the trouble he was in. Before he spoke Connor jumped in, coat on and the money case secured.

"What did you do? Did anybody see ya?"

"Fuckin' right they did. Dropped like flies, all of them… Fuckin' killed them all man… all of 'em…"

"The fuck are you bringing this shit to Rosie's man?" Murphy said angrily. Connor looked at Rocco in agreement and felt the old rumblings of rage overcome him. "Fuck it. Let's go."

In a few quick movements Rocco was dragged by the scruff of his neck out the door and down the hall. Rose stood dumbfounded as Murphy tugged on his boots. He shrugged an apology before running down the hall to catch up. They'd be after Rocco now; if he had someone following him they'd end up at her doorstep and she could only imagine what they'd do to her to get answers. The boys were protecting her from Rocco's idiocy.

She returned to the news and her jaw dropped. 'Four dead at Lakeview killing spree…' scrolled across the bottom of the screen as the weather report rambled on. She turned off the TV and grabbed the phone before leaning over her balcony to watch the trio speed off. "Rocco… you fuckin' idgit…" She thought aloud. The fresh air calmed her momentarily and she ran her thumbs over the numbers, debating.

"Hallo?"

"Hey Ma." She said trying her best to maintain her composure. "How are ya?"

"Rosemary! What's the matter, what did they do to ya?"

She smiled. "Nothin' ma, nothin'. I was jus' callin' to see how you were doin' is all. How was yer St. Patty's with uncle Sibeal?"

"Ya wretched child, how dare ya lie to yer mother." She teased only half-serious. "After eighteen 'ours 'a labor and no man to holler at as ya dropped from m'loins."

Rose groaned, disgusted. "Nah Ma, serious. I miss ya is all. Just need someone to talk to."

Her hoarse laughter vibrated the whole phone. "Is that so? Yeh know Sibeal, always whinin' about one thing or ano'dder. Cheap as hell that one." She coughed before continuing. "Where are those lousy bro'ders of yers?"

"Around." She sighed

"Rosemary Annabelle MacManus…" Her mother warned. "I didn't spend the best days of m'youth raisin' you t'ree, losin' me girlish figure and perky tits to be lied to. What's goin' on? They in trouble again? Ya best tell me girl."

"No MA! Just have a friend who found himself in a bit 'a trouble, they're goin' to help him out."

After an hour of trying to convince her mother of the boy's innocence, she finally conceded and left Rose to her own. She swore under her breath instantly regretting the decision and yet still amazed that her mother could pinpoint when she was defending the boys, covering for them as usual. It frightened her that she would somehow know exactly what had happened. They never could get away with anything as kids, what made them think they could now? Even if they were five thousand miles away.

~*~*~

It didn't take long before Connor and Murphy managed to calm Rocco down to coherency. He looked out the window of his beaten down pinto as Connor sat behind the wheel. They drove past the Lakeview to get a feel for the investigation, if anything it stressed Rocco out more but the boys let their curiosity get the better of them. Murphy could see Rocco sweating and fidgeting in the backseat from the vanity mirror. He giggled and motioned for Connor to slow down. His hands tensed around the passenger seat and after a few agonizing moments, they took off. Turning the corner, Rocco relaxed again and lit a smoke to alleviate the stress. He peered out the window and inspiration struck him.

"Connor, stop here man. Look." He tapped on the glass.

The neon lights of the Sin Bin flickered faintly under the afternoon sun. Connor looked at his brother questionably before pulling over.

"Rocco, when I said I wanted you to relax I didn't mean it like that…" He said bitterly.

"No man. Just listen. Vincenzo, that greasy fuck… He's the one who sold me out, comes here and jerks off to the same titty dance every Saturday, never fails."

"Yeah, so?" Murphy turned in his seat. "You wanna watch 'im or somethin'?"

"No man, let's kill the motherfucker!" His eyes lit up with a zealous flare that slightly disturbed the MacManuses. "C'mon you guys like snuffing mob-types right?"

"We don't really have a system there, Rocco." Connor said coldly starting the car.

"C'mon man, think about who I am! I know every member of every family, everything about them! I'm your system man! Me! ME!"

"You're really onto this aren't cha?" Murphy giggled. "What do you think?"

Connor sighed, rubbing his fingers on his lips in thought. "I'm strangely comfortable with it…"

His chest tightened. The bloodlust was strong with Rocco and he was sure Murphy was feeling it too. Although he had no doubt of his brother's forbearance, Rocco made him nervous. When things got heavy Rocco could never keep a cool head. He was irrational, ignorant, and from what he heard of the scene at the Lakeview, trigger-happy. He removed his sunglasses and pointed to him.

"But leave the killing bit to us. You've done enough fuckin' damage already."

~*~*~

As the Boston sky grew black, the boys slipped around the back of the Sin Bin and waited. Security was extremely lacking from the constant mob involvement. If a dancer was beat, strangled or raped it could just be swept under the carpet; cleanliness and efficiency, the mafia motto. They snaked their way through the empty dressing room and yanked on their masks. Scrambling through the hanging beads to the dancer's den Rocco clapped a hand to the beautiful naked girl's mouth and put a gun to her temple screaming. Her eyes were frantic and she whined for help behind his hands. The painted talon-like fingernails clawed at him and he tightened his hold on her neck.

"Where the fuck is he?"

Without hesitation the dancer shot a shaking finger to the centre booth and squealed so hard into Rocco's gloved hand that she passed out. He let her down gently on the sofa just as the twins sent bullets into the booth. Without hesitation Murphy peeked into the other booths and set his eyes on two men 'readying' themselves for the dancer.

"Fuckin' scumbags." He spat. "Let's clean 'em out."

Connor and Murphy shot several bullets into the adjacent booths before adorning the bodies with pennies and praying softly. Rocco faintly heard their words, as he grew more and more transfixed on the dancer's incredible chest. The firm mounds rose and fell in rhythm with her breathing and almost subconsciously a hand grasped it. A throaty breath deflated him.

"The fuck are you doin'?!" Connor's voice made him freeze and his hands rose to the air guiltily.

"I'll tip her?" He offered a smile and the boys shook their head in disgust.

"Get the fuck outta here." Murphy growled knocking him with the butt of his gun.

By the time the boys started for Rose's flat, Rocco had split. Guilt loomed over him and the accusing eyes of Connor and Murphy helped little. He'd find a place to stay, even if it were on the street, their disappointment in him was more than he could bear. The boys gave him no quarrel as he turned down the alley.

"The fuck was that?" Murphy said shaking his head, "He doesn't get it."

"Aye."

They remained silent for a few moments, Murphy trying to work out his argument.

"Y'know … if we're gonna keep doin' this we might as well have someone who knows their fuckin' shit." He eyed Connor nervously.

"No, Murph."

"We can't protect her forever." He huffed in frustration. "B'sides, she's a lot more level headed than Roc."

"No. I'm not gonna fuckin' bury 'er before her time."

"Will ya give yer head a shake man? She can take care of herself. If anythin' she'd be safer doin' this shit with us around. Rocco's a loose canon."

Connor was silent and Murphy took the hint. He began to mull over the possibilities. Rose could help them, he knew that, but something about her sacrificing everything she had going for her for vigilantism didn't sit right. She could fight in the courtroom putting these pricks in jail; she could become the DA if she really wanted to. He sighed. As much as he tried to convince himself of her alternatives, he knew it was a losing battle and trying to keep her out of the way when they went about doing the Lord's work would be counterproductive. He looked at Murphy; nodded, and let his shoulders fell in defeat.


	6. Chapter 6: Il Duce

_Many thanks again to JokerSmile and _eXsTorDiNaRiLy InViSiBle _for the constant [and __EXTREMELY__ flattering] reviews from the very beginning_ _and also to everyone who's been following, 'favoriting', and commenting so far! _

_As promised, here's a [relatively] solid chapter. Bit of back-story for you guys! _

_Chapter Six: Il Duce_

"Move 'im"

Noah held out his hands as the officer cuffed him. He kept his eyes closed and folded his hands trying to recall memories of his wife and children that wouldn't come. His ankles were shackled and he was guided onto a small platform. He heard guns cock and footsteps follow after him as he was rolled away. Hushed voices of other inmates rung in his ears like that of curious children. His bearded chin rested on his chest and he lost himself in thought. They were so young when he left them and the guilt never faltered. His boys were too young to remember him, his daughter unborn, and Annabelle… she'd never forgive him.

_She lay in his arms naked and dozing softly. Her wavy red hair draped over his bare chest. She was so beautiful he hesitated to touch her. He grew tense and finally placed a hand on her cheek. Sleepily her hand slid down his arms and slipped her fingers in her hands. She rolled over and her sparkling green eyes met his._

"_I love yeh, Noah." She whispered gently before kissing his mouth with an almost ethereal passion. He cleared his throat nervously and put his lips to her forehead, breathing in her scent. His hand squeezed hers in reply. _

He feared those words. Feared that they would sabotage he and Annabelle. He loved her. Of course he loved her, but the words would never come. They were always assumed and she never questioned him, even when he knew it broke her heart.

_She fell asleep in his arms, tangled and sweating. He kissed her swollen belly gently and carefully rolled out of bed. Dressing quickly he padded toward the nursery. The boy's chests rose and fell in their sleep peacefully. Slinging his bag over his shoulder he carried on down the hallway and locked the door behind him._

He stopped rolling and squeezed his eyes shut tighter to focus his ears on the goings on. There was shuffling across from him and a slow cranking before he heard metal scrape against concrete. He opened his eyes and watched the three before him from behind the lowering cage. They sat stiff, obviously intimidated by the number of armed guards that had their weapons trained on him. The sun cast shadows of the bars across the floor and Noah's eyes followed it to the window.

_They tackled him before he could step into his hotel room. His cheek was ground into the carpet and he gasped for air, winded. They jerked his arms behind his back and guns were pointed at the back of his head. The butt of a pistol dazed him and he hung in their arms unconscious. _

The words of the approving tribunal were ignored as he was released and led to the holding office. A guard with a face resembling a bulldog snorted before handing him a box full of clothing, a pair of shoes, and a pair of leather gloves. He tucked the box under his arms and was further guided to the exit. When he left the compound a black limousine honked and a hand beckoned to him. He went to the window and the door swung open to him. A tall man wearing an expensive Armani suit smiled at him before lighting a cigar and offering him one. Silence was exchanged between them as the balding man eyed him.

"Il Duce." He said extending a hand. "It is a pleasure."

Noah remained silent and stared him down. His tongue felt old and broken.

"I have a job for you." His Italian accent emerged heavily. "If you're up for it."

He nodded slowly, knowing that if he were to refuse he'd be sleeping on a flat mattress and be pissing in public again.

"Rocco. This package boy." He spat the words as he passed the man a photo. "He's a real wise-guy, a smart fucking guy. He's killing us off and threatens to compromise the whole east coast of my organization. I need you to kill him and whoever is helping him. What do you say old man?"

Noah took the photograph from the Italian's hands and nodded, stuffing it into his coat and starting for the door.

"Perfecto." He smiled scribbling down an address and phone number. "If you need anything let my boys know. They meet at the _doctor_'s house every Tuesday."

Noah left the limo and walked aimlessly before coming across a cheap motel. He threw cash at the receptionist, taking the keys and starting for his room. The room was dingy and smelt of mildew and mothballs. He tossed his box on the bed and stepped into the washroom. As he shut the door his reflection greeted him. An old man with curly gray hair, softly wrinkled face, and strong brown eyes stared back at him. Astonishment and longing caused his chest to flatten and his shoulders to shudder, fighting off the urge to shed tears. He lost the battle and touched his face thoughtfully.

"_Noah." The thickly accented voice buzzed through the receiver. "I have something for you."_

"_Louie…" He greeted his former friend somberly. _

"_You are thrice a father, Noah." He held up a small photograph of Annabelle and a baby with huge eyes and a mass of hair. "Congratulations. She will be a beautiful girl…like her mother… tell me Noah, do they know where you are?"_

_Noah's fist tightened around the receiver. "No."_

"_Why did you even bother coming back here? You had a family... a wonderful life and you threw it away for what?"_

"_Truth and justice." He replied slowly._

"_Truth and justice?" Louie repeated shaking his head, laughing miserably. "Yours is a fool's errand, Noah."_

_He withdrew the picture and went to hang up the receiver before returning it to his lips again. "Her name is Rosemary. I hope that keeps you warm for the next 25 years."_

He wondered what they looked like now, where they were, who they were. It weighed on him. They wouldn't put him away again this time; he'd find his boys, his daughter and make amends. He dropped to the bed relishing in its thick mattress, the fluffy although stained pillows, the privacy. For so many years he took it for granted, especially the bathroom. He was getting too old now, what Annabelle must think of him.

_Annabelle waited for months for Noah to return. He said he'd only be gone a week for some unfinished business in America. The baby was coming soon it was becoming evident as she huffed to keep up with the boys around her growing belly. After the third month she accepted that he wasn't coming back. She didn't blame him exactly, America sounded wonderful. Plenty of opportunities for a boy like him. But her mother had warned her about Noah. "No boy who leaves Ireland and his children is fit fer a thought." _

_When she went into labor her mother coached her. She sucked in breath quickly squeezing and screaming at her mother. Noah's handsome face flashed before her eyes and she thought of the boys. They stayed with her brother Sibeal and she was left to birth the child alone. After eighteen hours her mother proudly announced it to be a girl. Her big black eyes stared back at her and she cried. Her mother patted the sweat from her brow. "'ave ya t'ought of a name, love?"_

"_Aye." She breathed closing her eyes. "Noah wanted to call her Rosemary, after his mother."_

_Her mother scoffed and nodded bitterly. "Fine. Rosemary Aspell it is."_

"_No Ma. MacManus."_

_She groaned. "You'll be the death 'a me 'belle."_

He flicked on the TV and watched the news for a while. Disgusted with what the world had come to.Massacres in diners, hotels, what was next? He shook his head, disappointed in the world and in himself. Hired by the mob he'd been killing off with Louie to clip them, until he sold him out. Noah's heart ached. He'd been away from them for so long and he hoped to God they were still back in Ireland far away from the danger of this city.

_Connor and Murphy ran around the yard chasing each other. They giggled and screamed with a laughter that warmed Annabelle's heart. She sat on the porch as the sun began to sink into the hills, watching as Rosemary took a few shaking steps. She laughed as she tumbled to the ground and began to curse Noah. Three years and not even a letter. _ _ How could he miss out on his children?_

"_Alright boys time ta come in."_

"_Aww Maa…" They whined, fighting off the shivers._

"_In the house." She hauled Rosemary up to her hip and held the door open for the boys._

_They trotted up to bed and after Rosemary was put into her crib, she went to tuck them in._

"_Ma?" Murphy asked sleepily. "Where's Da?"_

"_Never mind now." She cooed, her heart caught in her throat in fear of this day. "Go to sleep. Love ya boys."_

Noah folded his hands behind his head and stared at the water-stained ceiling. As it frothed with his tired eyes, he hoped the answers would come to him. He had faith that Annabelle would have raise them right; to be quick witted and overflowing with common sense. She wouldn't deal with nonsense and he loved her for it. They had talked of their children growing up to be professors, lawyers, tradesmen, or doctors. Being absent for 25 years, he figured they'd resent him by now. Resent him or erase him from memory. The knife of guilt that had been stabbing him for the last two and a half decades twisted. Even if he found them again they'd never believe him. If they did they'd never respect him or consider him as their father – they would have their own lives to live. Letting his own self-loathing get the better of him, he rubbed his tired eyes and turned off the light.

_Rosemary sat on the roof and stared at the sky. The moon was full and the stars pierced the dark sheet. The shingles were cool against her bare feet and the faint spring wind soothed her. The lake glistened in the distance and she smiled to herself. A rustling in the bushes caught her attention and she peeked over the edge of the house. A boy with auburn hair and big green eyes smiled at her and hauled himself up to her level._

"_What are you doin' here?" She whispered angrily._

"_Had ta see ya before ya go." He smiled and touched her knee._

"_Piss off." _

"_Rosie, please." His eyes pleaded for attention. "Just one?"_

"_No Shaemus. I told you already." Angry tears pricked her eyes._

"_It's only for a few years love and I'll wait for you."_

_She stared him down angrily trying to seek the truth in his pale eyes. He looked genuine and she wanted more than anything to believe him, but she couldn't. She was going to America; she was going to have an opportunity at a real career instead of wasting her life away at Uncle Sibeal's bar with a bunch of drunken old men. The boys understood, even though they planned to follow her, but Shaemus..._

"_Go home Shaemus." She said finally, ignoring the look on his face. "Just go home."_

_He sighed and blew her a kiss before slipping down the side of the house._

~*~*~

Rose, Rocco, and the boys sat around McGuinty's exhausted from the verbal battle with each other. Connor still wasn't totally convinced Rose should be involved but he knew how stubborn she was and Murphy was right, it was better that she come along so they could protect her rather than have her jump in at the last second unannounced and unprepared. They had that problem with the Russians. It frustrated him, but she wasn't a kid anymore and he wasn't their father. He took a gulp of his pint and rubbed her back in attempt to try and reassure himself. Rocco glanced around, still nervous. He dashed a smoke and raked his fingers through his tangled hair.

"I've been thinking about the next job." He said carefully, looking over his shoulder casually to be sure no one in the empty bar would hear. When the MacManuses didn't respond he continued uneasily. "There's this guy, a real sicko… They call him the _doctor _he's a big hitter for Yakavetta, makes the rest look like alter boys."

Rose looked at her brothers to gauge their reaction. They seemed vaguely interested. She refilled their pints and listened.

"Anyways, I was told to drive him around for this one _job._ The guy wiped out the whole family; kids, wife, even the fuckin' pets and what's fucked up is that he was so stone-faced man… nothin' there, just empty." Roc shook his head and down his pint. "I knew if I didn't keep it together it was my ass. So we took the bodies and torched them in a dumpster. Never seen anything like that before. I must've smoked three packs in those two hours man. I've never been so fuckin' scared of anyone. Worst day of my life, man…"

"I'm sold." Murphy tipped his glass.

"Don't worry Roc, we'll do this guy right and you'll feel a lot better about it." Connor added.

"Aye." Rose clinked her glass against Roc's. "Any idea of how we're gonna do this?"

"He throws a poker game with his buddies every Tuesday night." Rocco said shrugged, starting to second-guess the whole idea.

"Gives us some time to prepare." Rose grinned and threw a fist into his shoulder. "Stop worrying, you look suspicious."

~*~*~

Noah woke half-expecting to see the shadow of bars across his bed. When he found none and had enough room to stretch out he exhaled softly. He figured he should just take off, go back home and try and salvage a relationship with his children but his faith compelled him to stay. Despite what Louie had thought it wasn't just for fame, anarchy, or destruction, but for a greater cause. He was summoned to purge evil and that craving almost killed him back at the Hoag. Becoming aware of his mind slipping toward his personal strife, he shifted to the job assigned. Rocco. He was impressed the kid had gotten this far. Poor bastard probably just got lucky.

He dug through the box pulling out pieces of clothing until he reached what he thought was the bottom. To his surprise the box was fitted with a false bottom and as he lifted the panel memories came flooding back. Folded neatly was the old leather vest he and Louie had constructed when they took up this mission. He ran a thumb over the soft brown leather before pulling it out of the box. It still smelled rich, like the Leatherman's.

_Mr. O'Hare was thrown into the bench. He fell to his bottom, twitched and convulsed violently before the blood started to trickle down his forehead in thick streams. Noah clapped a hand to his mouth from the second floor and quivered. Two pig-headed looking Italians hauled him to his feet, spat a few foul words at him and threw him down again, more blood spurting from his mouth. The larger man pinched the bloody mouth and received a failed attempt at being spit in the face. Blood and saliva bubbled from O'Hare's lips and dribbled down his once strong chin. He was held down while a third man bludgeoned his face with the press. His legs twitched and finally went limp to a chorus of laughter from the Italians who threw the bloodied leather tools down around him and left the warehouse._

_Noah's hands trembled. His knees nearly buckled as he ran down the stairs. O'Hare lay lifeless at the foot of the bench, his face beaten and gored beyond recognition. Noah hesitated at first, but he cradled the man's bloody head in his lap. Louie stumbled in, leg brace squeaking. Seeing the older man dead in Noah's arms, he lost himself and ran to his friend. A nervous hand touched his shoulder and Noah screamed for the first and last time._

He shuddered. That dark day had sent him out for vengeance, for justice that could only be repaid in the blood of the wicked. It had been so long since he was out in the field. He had taken it as a sign for him to retire the mission and waste away in the Hoag. Now he was free. His only hope was that he would still have the prowess to continue.


	7. Chapter 7: Firefight

_Sorry about the delay, I've been super-busy with exams! You guys are wonderful!_

_Chapter Seven: Firefight_

Paul Smecker trotted onto the scene, disheveled and feeling like a bag of shit. The bags under his eyes did nothing for his already sullen face. Dolly, Duffy, and Greenly stared at him with fish eyes, but had attempted to appear and sound professional. They were getting better, he had to admit but not fast enough. Where they struggled to get a hold of basic detective procedure and scraped theories together, he was anticipating the next massacre. And here they were: Quiet neighborhood. Family home. Poker game. Mob Peons and a plethora of bullets. He lit a smoke and walked up the front porch. Squirts of blood stained the pillars of the front porch, the bushes where broken and misshapen. Hundreds of casings littered the street and bullet holes punctured everything in sight. Something went wrong here. It wasn't like the other jobs. This was disoriented; too many different guns, too many silent witnesses. He groaned as the forensics team flocked to the bloodstains.

He stepped into the backroom where the penny-eyed dead lay. It was a nice place for a get-together; pool table, poker table, huge TV, dart board, personal bathroom, several dead peons... He chuckled and snapped the white gloves to his wrists. A blood-covered cue ball sat neatly on the seat of the couch with a crimson streak beneath it. Splinters from broken pool cues littered the carpet and blended with the casings. It looked pretty standard compared to the previous murders except for a few signs of struggle. They had got the job done that much was clear. Yet something was awry and he couldn't put his finger on it. The nagging question of their motive itched him. Smoking his cigarette to the filter he stormed outside.

"So what's the story?" Greenly asked flipping open his notebook, fighting his pride tooth and nail to look attentive.

Smecker rolled his eyes and pitched the butt before humoring the rookie detective. "Same case as before. All these guys have mob connections. No clear motive for the killers, no fucking clue who these assholes are. The wife let them in by that back room; they stunned her and knocked off the whole slough of them. The only difference with this one is that they were struggling and got clipped out here." He jerked his thumb at the blood and the punctured car. "Sooo…Six guys with guns were ready for them and caught them unawares, I'm sure they're still off bleeding somewhere. It was a fuckin' ambush."

"What about one guy, six guns?" Duffy suggested hopeful.

Smecker glared at him and he shied away. "Where the fuck are those blood samples?"

"I can't get a good sample…"

Smecker groaned and yanked at his hair before rubbing his fingers in the blood sniffing it and rubbing it in the forensic girl's face. "They used ammonia!" He laughed angrily, a maniacal smile taking over his face. "None of this is any good! FUCK! Even if we get fucking suspects we've got nothing! NOTHING! I've never seen anything like this in my fucking life! Who the fuck are they?" He stomped into the bushes smacking the branches out of his way with his open hands. The detectives, the forensics team, and the neighbors watching all tensed. Paul could feel it and he was glad. He looked like a fool. He didn't mind so much if the Boston police department looked stupid, but he was a professional. He was sent in to solve problems like this and he couldn't. They didn't leave a trail, barely a trace. He pinched his temples and glanced at the ground, hopelessness and hurt pride festering. He looked down and was astonished to find a small bit of flesh hidden in the woodchips. Taking a latex glove out of his pocket he folded it into the material and pocketed it. It was a start.

~*~*~

The rented van pulled up to the doctor's house and parked. Connor, Murphy, Rose and Rocco sat silently as the engine died. Their eyes were trained on the house. It was a quaint little place, big front yard lined with gardens of flowers, friendly neighborhood. The last place a hit man would be harbored. They had been watching the damn place for almost three hours and it was silent. The entire neighborhood was eerily peaceful. Out of nowhere the garage door opened and a kid rolled out on his bike. Rose slapped the back of Rocco's head.

"Could've told us there was a fuckin' kid, man."

"I didn't know! I didn't think a monster like that could reproduce!"

"Enough, let's fuckin' go." Murphy and Connor already had their guns assembled leaving Rose and Rocco to catch up.

They bounded up the driveway quickly, not bothering to look over their shoulders, not caring. Connor lifted the garage door and the other three ducked under and ran in. As he shut it Murphy took the lead and tossed open the door finding the wife in the kitchen. In a few quick movements he put his hand over her throat and motioned with his head for Rocco. Obediently, Rocco stretched out a bit of duct tape and slapped it to her mouth. Fear flashed in her eyes and he jerked her hand behind her back bending her over the island counter.

"Fuckin' be careful." Murphy hissed trying to disguise his accent. "Listen love, you're gonna tell us where he is, got it?"

She nodded, hot tears dribbling down her face. Rocco released his rough grip and taped her hands. "Lead the way."

She had led them through a small garden to a back shed locked with a keypad. Her head was down and she didn't make a sound other than little sobs here and there. Rocco held his gun to the nape of her neck and pushed her into the wall, whispering as hard as he could at her to open the door.

"Her fuckin' hands are tied!" Murphy growled, frustration getting the better of him. He took out his knife and slit the tape, the wife's hand trembling but quickly punching in the numbers. Her head went down again, eyes squeezing shut as the quick buzz of the taser knocked her unconscious.

They waited anxiously before the door finally creaked open. Connor's foot booted the door in and they were received by a group of several confused men. For a few moments they stared at each other, mindless. As their faces slowly began to turn into anger Rocco let the first bullet fly.

"All of 'em."

Silent bullets sunk into the suited chests; their eyes bulging and mouths bleeding. Two dove under the pool table and Rocco reciprocated on his knees letting his nervous fingers loose on the triggers. Connor and Murphy's shots were more accurate and the men fell in a matter of seconds. A large man in a red coat watched his bottle of whisky explode before the bullet punctured his stomach. He fell to the carpeted floor, writhing spitting out prayers for his life to be spared. The place grew into a surreal silence as Rocco went to the fallen men, scanning them. Desperation overcame his sweating face.

"He ain't here."

"What the fuck do you mean he isn't here?!" Murphy shouted

Rose didn't move once she saw the first man go down. Fear choked and paralyzed her. Her gun was set on her targets but she couldn't bring herself to pull the trigger. She had wanted to. She had wanted justice. Visions of the little boy in the hospital, the anger in Rocco's eyes as he described the doctor, murderers, and child molesters played through her mind. Her brothers were so quick and accurate in their movements, divine. She lowered her gun unable to squeeze the trigger.

"Roc, behind ya!" Murphy squeaked.

The bathroom door flung open and a lanky man with horned rim glasses, armed with a towel rack struck him. Rocco cursed, fired his gun and staggered back shaking off the pain that grew through his arm. The doctor's eyebrows angled and his forehead creased in angry realization. He faltered for only a moment before tackling Rocco and wrapping his hands around his neck. Rocco screamed trying to buck him off for the sake of his life. Snapping out of her catatonia, Rose ran for a cue and swung it over the spine of the doctor. When he didn't flinch she went to hit him again but was stopped by a surprisingly calm Connor.

"Leave him." He didn't take his eyes off the two. Murphy shuffled a bit uneasily and waiting, watching as Rocco's hand clawed the air for help.

"It was your idea to bring him in Murph, he's gotta earn his stripes."

Rose watched as Rocco's face grew more and more red. He was wheezing and struggling weakly. She touched Connor, desperate for reassurance. He shook his head sternly.

"I don't wanna die…" A haggard, struggling voice rasped.

Connor turned immediately and readied his gun. Rose slapped Murphy and jerked her head toward Rocco. He understood, scanning the room quickly for a weapon. Rocco's eyes met his and he snagged the cue ball from the pool table. Checking to see that Connor's back was still turned he rolled the ball and Rocco caught it, shattering the Doctor's glasses as it made contact with his temple. He teetered over Rocco for a few seconds as he was struck with more blows from the ball. Rocco was screaming louder each time he slammed the ball into his face. "You sick fuck! Sick fuck!"

He rose to his feet and lunged for Connor, hands strong and angry. In a swift movement Connor reversed his attack and slammed him onto the pool table.

"That's enough Roc, you did fine. It was nicely done." He placed his hand over Roccos mouth and kissed the back of it.

Murphy had been staring at Rose. Her face was firm, lips puckered into a small grimace, her cheeks were taught, but her eyes glistening with fear betrayed her calm composure. He realized at that moment that she hadn't fired a bullet at all, not with the Russians, not now. His hand fell on her shoulder and squeezed. She didn't move. Instead she stared at the bodies Connor had begun to place pennies on.

They exited out the front door. Minds still set with tension. As they made their way silently down the steps Murphy and Connor stopped. Across the street an old man with curly silver hair leaned casually against a sedan. Sunglasses blackened his eyes but his head was angled downward. A fat cigar protruded from his mouth, ash slowly eating away at the barrel. For a few seconds they stared at him, unsure whether to strike or to keep moving. Quickly the old man threw off his coat and a vest adorned with various guns came into clear view. Connor and Murphy instantly grabbed their guns. She felt their hands on her and felt her cheeks be grazed against the shrubbery before she landed in the woodchips. From her position she could see smoke and bullets scream across the road. With a few well-aimed shots the boys flinched and yelped in pain. Rocco fell beside her clutching a bleeding stump where his thumb should have been. Connor fell to one knee, cursing louder and harder than she'd ever heard. Murphy kept looking over his shoulder at the bushes before his arm shot back from the impact of the bullet.

Her hands grew steady on her gun and lying flat on her belly she aimed carefully for the man's head, his teeth clenching the cigar. Squeezing the trigger and feeling the recoil without so much as a blink she saw the old man jump and start to run. She had missed, but not by much. It was enough to cease his attack. The boys cursed, limping around trying to douse the blood as quickly as possible. Rocco had begun a frantic search for his thumb but was instead hauled toward the van.

"Rosie! Murph!" Connor screamed, frantically whipping his head around to find her. "Are ya all right?!"

"Motherfucker." Murphy breathed as Rose scrambled out from the bushes. Her face was distraught and angry but she bolted for the van without a second thought.

They arrived at her apartment, trying their best to walk normal and hold in the blood as they went into the lobby. She instructed them to sit down in the kitchen, pulling out garbage bags to catch the blood. They obeyed silently and watched her turn on the burner of the stove, placing an iron on the element. As she rummaged around in her room Connor turned to Rocco.

"Who the fuck was he Roc – I know you fuckin' know so don't even start." His voice was calm but teetering on the brink of hysteria.

"Fuck you man, I've never seen him before."

"Oh that's just fuckin' great." Murphy groaned, trying to remove his shirt from his damaged arm.

"You motherfuckers wanted to take on the mob and don't expect retaliation!?"

"What the fuck are you tryin' to say Roc?" Murphy's eyes were shadowed with suspicion.

"Enough." Rose said placing an armful of supplies on the table. "There's no use fightin' yourselves. Roc, keep your goddamn hand above your head. Boys sit fuckin' still, you're bleedin' all over the goddamn place."

Rocco obeyed as she carefully cleaned the wound. His hand was cold and blood spurted slowly from the stump. She glanced at the iron and seeing it was ready told the boys to hold him. She placed the stump on the edge of the table and pressed the iron hard and firm against his flesh. Murphy held a cloth in his mouth like a bridle reefing on it whenever his screams grew too loud. As she withdrew the iron, she dressed the now cauterized mound and wrapped it gently, shaking out a smoke for him.

She turned to Murphy next as he struggled with his shirt. Placing a surprisingly calm hand on his shoulder to seat him she grabbed the snips and proceeded to cut his shirt off. The material fell away from his blood soaked limbs and she shook her head. Luckily the bullet hadn't hit the bone, only grazed his flesh. Murphy's blood dribbled and smeared over her hands as she attempted to clean it. He hissed and sighed as she dabbed at it. When the hot iron was brought down on his bicep Rose never let her eyes leave his. He was bent over the table, arms flat as Connor straddled his back, cloth in his mouth. His teeth sunk into it instantly and Rose braced herself against the iron. Muffled screams were contested by her faint humming of a lullaby their mother sang to them when they were children. As the smell of burning flesh filled their nostrils, Rose replaced the iron and wrapped her sweating brother's arm snuggly.

Connor's leg was bleeding badly. His face was pale and his lips turning bluish. He lay across the table with no protest as the snips cut along his pant-leg. She was afraid then that the bullet that caught him in the leg might be his undoing. If it had hit his femoral artery, he would only have a few more minutes to bleed out. Working as quickly as she could, she was relieved to see that it had merely skimmed the surface of his quadriceps. He groaned, trying to look down at the damage done.

"Oh stoppit ya big baby." She scolded gently.

Connor didn't scream or struggle. Instead, as they sat him up and Murphy put the bit in his mouth he reached a trembling hand back and slapping his shoulders. He looked at Rose approvingly and let his eyes close in lazy fatigue as she strapped the bandage to him.

Despite her best attempts to keep it contained, blood had stained the entire kitchen. As the boys collapsed on her couch, floor, and bed she flicked off the stovetop. With a wet dishcloth and a bundle of towels she began cleaning off the blood. Silent tears streaked her cheeks


	8. Chapter 8: Confessions

_I'm SO sorry it took me so long to post. Between studying for exams and moving out of my old place I haven't had any time to write. I didn't get a chance to really edit it so if it sounds rough that's why. I apologize for the short chapter!_

_Chapter Eight: Confessions_

"I have confidence that our investigation will end in the full apprehension of the suspects."

Connor flicked off the television and swore, taking a long sip of warm beer. He sunk into the couch and let his head fall back into the plush of the cushion. A knot was beginning to form in his stomach as the pain in his leg pounded. His eyes passed over to Rose who sat on the other end of the couch. Her knees were tucked into her chest and her head rested gently on them as she dozed. Red, untended scratches marred her freckled cheeks.

"Man, fuck that guy." Rocco spat bitterly.

Murphy sighed. "He's the one who got us off with the Chekov thing."

"They've got nothin'."

"This man's really sharp, if he hasn't caught onto us yet he will." Connor said slowly, eyes closed, finger over his lips to motion silence.

"Aye, betchyur ass he will."

"So let's fuckin' take care of him!"

"No." They said in unison.

"He's a good man, he isn't to be touched." Murphy said, tone stern.

Rocco grumbled in disagreement. They hadn't slept all night. Too worked up on adrenaline, fear, and anger to sit still for more than a few moments at a time. Rose had insisted on staying awake with them but fell asleep within a few hours. It seemed as though no time had passed. They had sat in silence, in darkness save for the pale light of the answering machine and stove clock. Now the sun had been steadily creeping in the sky, flooding the room with a bronze light. As it washed over Rose's face her eyes fluttered open and she yawned, stretching out like a cat.

"Well, so nice of you to join us, sleeping beauty." Murphy teased, mumbling from behind a cigarette.

She grunted and tossed a pillow at him.

Eventually the MacManuses hauled Rocco to a large cathedral across town. He shook his head at their dedication and leaned against the wall, lighting a cigarette, fumbling around his missing thumb. They didn't force him to follow. Much to their fortune, it was empty and silent save for the minor shuffling of father McKinney. He smiled at the boys and Rose as they trudged in and made his way toward the rectory. As her brothers went instantly to their prayers, Rose sat rigid, debating whether or not to slip into the confessional. Thinking better of it she bowed her head and knit her fingers together.

_What have we done? It seemed so right at the time, ever since those Russians almost killed us we've been struggling. The boys mean well. We all do. I don't know why I couldn't pull the trigger, I just couldn't. How are we going to ever live normal lives after this? Oh Lord, please, please keep them safe. Give us strength to carry out your will. Keep us…_

She lost herself, barely feeling the weight of the pew shift beside her. Connor stormed to the front of the church, watching as Rocco shoved McKinney into the confessional booth. His gun loaded he entered the left side and listened carefully as the confession was made.

"I came here fer advice…Not slolvation." The drunk in the booth slurred. "Isethics. I put bad men behin' bars but there's miles a red tape for these cocksuckers to slip through… But these kids… they pull it off as if they had God's permission. I should've arrest them buh I feel like wha they're doin is right…"

Rocco felt his neck crank behind him and the sharp click of a gun cock against his head. "Let him go right now or I'll deliver you right fuckin' here."

"He could hurt us man, you love me!"

Father McKinney's voice shook as he tried to council the inebriated agent. "…The soul is what gives you feelings. It is a conduit in which the Lord speaks to us. Is it so hard to believe that the Lord has sent you here today?"

Smecker giggled and bobbed his head almost falling asleep.

"It's easy to joke about things like this, but to take a stand for what you believe in is much more difficult… and when it comes right down to it, the laws of God is higher than the laws of man." He sighed finally, guilt rushing through him as fear got the better of his judgment. He was released from the grip behind him as the drunk mumbled on about helping the vigilantes.

Connor slammed the door of the booth and motioned to his siblings to leave the church. Rose and Murphy looked at each other baffled as Rocco sauntered out, a goofy grin plastered to his face.

"He's gonna get us all fuckin' killed." Connor snarled tight lipped and tense.

"Easy there man." Murphy smacked his shoulder. "We just keep him at home next time. Rose can step up."

"Fuckin' idiot." He stamped out his butt and watched as Rocco emerged from the massive doors.

"The Lord works in mysterious ways!"

"The fuck is that supposed to mean? You just fuckin' attacked a priest, Get outta here Roc, don't bother followin' us anymore."

~*~*~

Smecker snagged the ringing cell phone that sat mockingly across the hotel room from him. "What?"

"'lo is this agent Smecker?" A male voice asked timidly.

"Yeah, who's this?"

"I don't know if you remember me, err- us, but we."

"MacManus?" He rubbed his temples amazed at his good fortune.

"Aye. Listen we have some information about that scene the other day – six guns and the doctor?"

"I'm listening."

After explaining the old man and their involvement in the shooting, Smecker laughed. Connor grew nervous at this sneaked a glance at his siblings. Silence followed by the flutter of pages on the other line started him chewing his lip.

"So you're telling me it was one guy with six guns and he was a senior fuckin' citizen?"

"That's right."

He paused, scribbling it all down. "So what are you boys gonna do now?"

"We hit Pappa Joe's tonight then head to New York. Shit's getting way too heavy here."

"Be careful. I'll see what I can do to help you two out."

"Three." Connor corrected as politely as possible, smirking at Rose.

"Three." Smecker laughed.

~*~*~

Noah hadn't expected four, let alone a woman. It seemed this Rocco kid had found himself some particularly capable allies. The girl had almost taken his head off. He breathed deeply through his nose and played out the scene time and time again. Before she was thrown into the bushes he caught a brief glance of her face. She bore a stunning resemblance to Annabelle, this strange girl; the anger on her face accentuated by a wrinkled nose and seething eyes. He shrugged it off before his mind could delve further into the depths of memory.

Pappa Joe had lied to him. He had made his rules of engagement clear to the mob since they started using him as a mercenary of sorts. No women and no children. It was simple enough he thought. Regardless of if they knew the girl was going to be there, they had risked his life and hers by a foolish lack of information on their target. The younger generation of the Yakavetta family was irresponsible, careless in their action. He saw it from the moment the panel had hesitated to release him. The man wanted instant gratification; have this Rocco fellow snuffed before he could come back to bite him.

But Rocco barely shot any bullets at all.

Noah shook his head at how foolish the mob had been. David Della Rocco's power didn't lie in his own hands – he had help. The job was now ultimately more difficult and Noah grew more and more angry at the potential the job had for killing that young girl. He didn't care if they sent him away for another 25 years, Yakavetta had broken the agreement and had to be put down.

~*~*~

Connor met Rose on the balcony of her apartment as the city lights formed a glowing dome beneath the blue sky. She leaned on the concrete, scanning the distance for nothing in particular. Awkwardly Connor shuffled up next to her, fighting the temptation to light a cigarette to keep his nerves at bay. Together they stared off, silence between them until the sky turned black.

"I hate ta say it, but Rocco's a bit of a liability… You think you can handle this?"

She nodded. "I tried to pull the trigger on those bastards and I just couldn't. When I saw you and Murphy get hit everything that was frozen in me shattered and I wanted to kill that old bastard…"

"Aye." He huffed pulling her into him. "You're a good shot."

Rose smiled at the compliment. She folded her arms over the concrete, watching the streetlights flicker on. "We're in some serious shit now aren't we?"

Connor exhaled before speaking. "Ya could say that."

~*~*~

Paul dragged the wig over his head and anxiously flicked his eyelashes with mascara. He blotted his lips on tissue before examining himself in the mirror. For his first time dressing in drag it wasn't half bad. Something was missing though. His clawed fingers touched his face trying to find any imperfection that caused him such discontent. He turned to the side to profile himself and noticed the notch of his Adam's apple. Twisting his lips, he reached for a small scarf that lined his purse and tied it around his throat. Checking himself once more he tucked his gun into his handbag and strapped on his heels.

He was only convinced of his disguise when the cabbie refused his money, eyeing him up and down. Smecker played coy for the sad little man and clicked up the massive driveway to the door of Pappa Joe's mansion. He lit a cigarette and rang the doorbell, turning his back to the door. He had killer calves, he knew that and he had to admit that he made the heels work. As the door creaked open slowly a husky Italian with chubby boyish cheeks stood jaw agape.

~*~*~

Rocco spat as he marched through Southie. He shook his head catching his bandaged finger in mid-glance. Some brothers Connor and Murphy turned out to be, bringing in their only sister to take down the mob when he was the one who knew every entrance… He sighed, subconsciously clenching his fists. They were on a suicide mission. Pappa Joe would have every gun in the city up and around his place, at least he assumed so considering the 'Il Duce' incident. At the time he had no idea who the old bastard was. He had heard stories of 'the Duke' clipping wise guys but it never really remained a hot topic. Often the boys would chuckle about the guy who got whacked and they'd carry on to more important issues. Something was wrong here. Either they were being overcautious in fear of more 'Russian retaliation' or they were afraid of him and what he could do. Rocco rubbed the bridge of his nose.

Now Connor and Murphy had dragged Rose along in his place because he had 'ruined his chance'. He was afraid for her. He was afraid that the boys had taken this mission a little too far. They had become over-zealous and lost focus on how they'd even go about getting into this place. Pappa Joe wasn't a slouch. He knew that first hand. The man, his capabilities terrified him but entertained Connor and Murphy. He could just let them go in there alone. He'd seen what the mob did to vigilantes and women who had pushed their luck just a bit too far. They were fucked without him.

~*~*~

"Joey Bevo sent me over." Paul squeaked exhaling a mouthful of smoke. "…As entertainment?" He had hoped this laughable disguise would work and grew anxious as he was looked over.

"Sorry baby not tonight – shit's really hittin' the fan in there if you know what I mean. Bevo's always sending us some primo box…"

He grinned and touched the unshaven flab of the Italian's cheek before kissing him hard on the lips. Stunned, the man opened his eyes to half-slits and nodded his head twisting the knob of the front door.


	9. Chapter 9: Martyr

_My most sincere apologies for the 2 month+ delay. Between moving out, working full-time, and graduating university I've had little time and even less inspiration to write. I got a few subscription notifications through my email in the last few weeks and realized I should probably get my butt back into writing mode. Again a little storyline/minor detail tweaking! Thanks for all your patience and support! Without further ado, here's chapter nine._

**Chapter Nine: Martyr**

Connor, Murphy, and Rose crept along the side of the mansion ever cautious to keep silent their shuffling footsteps and clanging gear. They slipped around the back of the house. Standing as black silhouettes under a moonlit sky they fumbled through the shrubbery until finding a small basement window. Painstakingly Connor tucked his gloved fingers around the sill and gave it a tug before pausing to wait for a reaction from within. Silence. He continued tugging firmly, carefully until the window was eased open completely. He clipped at the screen until it keeled over. Murphy knowingly slipped through first careful to make as little noise as possible. His toes touched the ground and he let his weight from his arms transfer to his feet. Glancing around in the darkness quickly to secure the area he tapped the sill lightly for Connor to follow.

Rose kept watch anxiously. They had gone over the plan amongst themselves several times along the way. Murphy would enter the window first, followed by Connor and then Rose. If they did run into any trouble on the way in, it would be much easier for Rose to get away in the spacious backyard rather than be trapped inside.

Touching her ankle tenderly, Connor slid his feet through the opening and slowly disappeared into the window's mouth. Another quick tap and Rose followed after her brothers. Grass and dirt rode up her back as she shuffled into the window. She felt the waiting hands of her brothers on her feet and wiggled inward. As she found herself waist deep in the window a yellow light illuminated the room. She gasped catching a small glimpse of the terror in her brother's faces and felt herself being hauled back through the window from her underarms. She kicked frantically, finding herself stuck. Her hips bashed against the sill in attempt to escape, her head searching frantically from behind her black mask for her captor. She resisted the urge to scream despite the fact she could hear her brother's cursing and calling her name. Something from the blackness covered her mouth and she slipped into unconsciousness.

"_How Many?"_  
_"Four."_  
_"Four?"_  
_"Yeah, caught three of 'em trying to sneak in through the back window. Funny Man was dumb enough to walk right through the back door"_  
_Pappa Joe smirked and loaded his .45._

Paul faced himself in the mirror trembling. Fear gripped him, ice shooting through his veins. He began breathing through his nose to control his rapid breath. _Too far_. He thought angrily. _Too bloody far._ He glanced at the dead mass of a man at his feet. A portion of his skull splattered against the wall. Paul's wig had given him away and now he fumbled to set it straight. The curls were in knots and he struggled to find the right position for it on his head. _It's alright_. He told himself. _ They think you've just fucked the poor bastard, you're hair is bound to be tousled._ The thought calmed him momentarily as he adjusted his dress. His hands shook and he scorned himself tightening the grip on his pistol.

"_Rocco ain't smart enough for this shit. It's gotta be the other three. No way he planned this."_

Rose's head pounded and her mind scrambled to piece together where she was. She wiggled her hands and found them bound behind her back. Her eyes flickered open to an invasive blur of white light. Her lips felt tight and cracked against the gag and her hips bruising further from the strain. The steel of the cuffs bit into her wrists as she shifted against them. She blinked her eyes into focus and found her brothers cuffed in a similar position. Arms tied behind them, legs bound to the chair legs. They fidgeted with their bindings searching for a loose end to wriggle free from. Blood stained their lips and dribbled down their chins. She could see the glisten of thick sweat on their foreheads. They breathed heavily wincing against their wounds. In the corner she made out another figure, covered in hair and blood.  
Rocco's sad blue eyes found her confused face and he tried desperately to explain himself. "I- couldn't let you guys do it alone… but I fucked up… I fucked up…" She tried to calm him before Pappa Joe walked in.

There was death in his eyes.

Tears slid down Rose's face before Pappa Joe lifted his gun. He glared at the balding Italian breathing growing staggered and nervous. Composed, Pappa Joe snagged Rocco's hand motioning to the men behind him to hold it. Rocco's heart caught in his throat.  
"You have something to tell me?" Pappa Joe asked darkly.  
Rocco glared at him and seemed to weigh his options. "Fuck you."

Pappa Joe shrugged and pulled the trigger as the barrel kissed Rocco's finger.  
"Roc! Look at me man, look at me!" Connor demanded.  
A loud bang silenced him. Spurts of blood streaked across his face, forcing his eyes shut. Pappa Joe retreated. Screams filled the room and Rocco bucked against his chair.  
Slurred curses hissed from his mouth. Desperation made the air thick.

Within minutes Pappa Joe returned alone. He paused briefly at the door and took aim at Rocco. He flicked his eyes at Rose before the bullet sent him flying backwards. The steel chair fell solid on its back leaving only Rocco's feet visible to Rose. They twitched uncontrollably. She sobbed and shook her head in devastation, trying to blink through the tears to catch a better glimpse of him, clinging to the moment as a final memento. As she heard Rocco's bubbling wheeze between her brothers' screaming, curses spilled into her gag at Pappa Joe. He offered a snide smirk, stiffened in a business-like fashion and left the room without a word.

Connor and Murphy screamed through tears and tried thrusting themselves from their chairs. Blood sputtered from Rocco's mouth as he gasped for words. Murphy fell to his side whimpering: "Don't fuckin' die motherfucker."

"Don't stop…." Rocco stammered. "Don't ever stop."

Rose cried his name, hanging her head and shaking it in futile attempt to cease the tears. Connor and Murphy's faces distorted and flushed red as it had when they were children. It was as if they were children again, confused and helpless. Sorrow ripped through the MacManuses as Rocco's last staggered breath deflated his chest and his eyes grew dull. There was silence.

Noah MacManus had been smart about his entry. He knew Pappa Joe had someone locked up in one of the rooms. He knew that there was a hooker inside. He had been watching the nervous posture of the gangsters, the hesitation in which he attributed to his own presence. Yet there had been a sick sense of sadism about them. He could see it whenever they entered or exited that room.

Something about this job didn't sit right from the start. Yakavetta wanted Rocco dead, and now he kept him hostage? Noah had enough, Joe wanted death he was going to get it. He had endangered a woman, even if she was a prostitute and the Duke had rules. Every mafia family knew that and never argued. Yakavetta had gone too far.

Gathering himself, Murphy began twisting his feet about the legs of the fallen chair. He struggled trying not to let the new smell of death distract him. The cuffs clanged around the steel before he freed them from the chair leg. He righted himself and catching on, Connor bit into his shirt and braced the cuff against the back of the steel chair. _Thwack!_ Rose watched Connor's face crumple in pain as Murphy dropped his heel on his brother's wrist. His gaze passed through her. _Thwack!_ A grunt oozed through his teeth and his eyes moistened, cheeks puffing out with air to ease out the pain. A final sickening crack from Connor's wrist ceased the assault.

In the middle of the struggle Pappa Joe returned with two others. His Armani dress shirt and tie delicately tightened up and reset against his stone features. The magnum dangled by a finger as he approached the boys.

"…You are the ones that have caused so much trouble. Bravissimo. For a couple of amateurs, you've made an impression." He laughed. "For a minute I thought Rocco was in charge."  
Rose struggled against her bonds. Pappa Joe offered a predatory smile to her brothers and started towards her.

"And a woman no less." He leaned over to bring his face to hers. "Your sister?"  
The similarity was undeniable. They had the same blue-green eyes, high cheekbones and strong chin. Pappa Joe could use it as ammunition and he knew it.  
"If you so much as touch 'er I'll fuckin' bury you!" Connor snarled; spit flying from his swollen cheeks.  
"Easy…" He said. "I just wanna know why you would endanger someone so close to you."  
Connor glared at Murphy his lip curling. _I fuckin' told you so._

"Now boys." He twirled the gun. "I'm not an animal. You've killed off many of my men and caused me to kill my own." He spat aiming for Rocco's corpse. "You've stolen from me. Although I'm impressed at the job with the Russians - If you weren't such deadly potato sucking bastards I'd offer you a job." He stepped over to Rose, hauling the back of her chair over to face them. "…and so…Since you've slaughtered bits and pieces of my 'family'…" He tucked the gun away. "I think I'll do the same to you…I'm no butcher. I have a wife and family who love me. But you'll learn something about fucking with me."

Pappa Joe swung his ringed hand across Rose's face without moving his eyes from the boys. She flinched and felt the pain swell up on her jaw instantly. As Connor and Murphy's reactions grew worse, he continued his assault on her stomach until she heaved and looked up through matted hair at her brothers. She sobbed and her fingers constricted. Pappa Joe touched her face and smoothed her hair.  
She gasped through the gag, eyes furious.  
"Shh, shh, bella." He crooned, lifting her chin to face him. "It's not becoming of you."  
"Vaffanculo." She mumbled.

A hand reached out around her throat and pulled her head back. His opposite hand drifted down her shoulders before grazing her chest. His lips touched her ear and as he spoke he eyed Connor and Murphy.  
"You're brave now, aren't you bella?" He reefed her head back, spitting in Italian. "but we have ways of breaking you."  
He jerked her head away and struck her again. "How does it feel watching her bleed?"

As Pappa Joe went to strike her again he was interrupted by one of his cronies. "Hey boss, you ah – need some help with the little one?" A thin man grinned, licking his lips at Rose.  
"Yeah, I think running a train on this bitch would serve those two pricks right." The other snickered, tugging at his belt buckle.

Before Pappa Joe could respond a younger man ran in. He approached him hesitantly before whispering in his ear. Pappa Joe's eyes widened in a mixture of disbelief, fear, and anger  
"You two take care of her."  
"Ya gonna miss out on all the fun boss."  
"Come with me." He said firmly.

"_Motherfucker is in the bushes right now! I am going; you stay here and deal with it. Tell them to do whatever you want with the girl, kill the boys."_

"Hey baby, what is it, two for one?"

Smecker responded with a silent bullet that pierced the flabby chest of the gangster. It was on now. They were here somewhere and without him they were fucked. He steadied his breathing and tread cautiously, keeping to the carpeted rooms to silence the clicking of his high heels. Snaking his way into the living room he could see a man's head peaking over the back of the chair. Taking aim he stepped closer, wanting to face his enemy before he put a bullet in him. To his horror the man's throat was torn open. Blood stained the front of the dead man's shirt and pooled on the carpet. _What the fu-_ Terror seized him and in a split second of pain he blacked out.

Sliding his broken hand through the hole, Connor freed himself from the cuffs. He ignored the mangled and bleeding mass of flesh, instantly dropping to Rose's side. Quickly he grabbed her face to inspect it. His brow wrinkled. Her left eye was turning blue and her lips were smeared with blood from a painful looking split. The cloth gag in her mouth browned around the corners of her lips. In her eyes he could see fear. He had seen it only once briefly with the Russians in their apartment. Yet here it was frantic. Her mouth caved in silent sobs and she trembled unable to face him.  
"Rosie. Rosie look at me… Good… I'm going to get these off ya. When they come back stay put."  
Rose nodded, sniffing and let her wrists slacken as he worked her bindings free. He held her briefly offering what strength he could and turned to his twin. It was a rare moment of tenderness between the two.

The boys sat calmly as the door swung open. The two Italians ignored them and hauled Rose from her chair, ignoring the free bonds. Her legs wobbled as she was held, arms bound in front of the laughing men. As they reached for her top the boys leaped forward cracking chairs over their spines.

The men collapsed in a heap before the twins. They panted for a few moments, exchanging a morbid grin and dropping the splintered remains of the chairs on them. Murphy snatched Rose in his arms and held her. Tears threatened to roll down his cheeks. He coughed to cover a choking breath and smiled at her in relief. In near unison, the trio looked to Rocco and a strange sadness returned. Rose righted Rocco in his chair and brushed his locks out of his face. She shuddered at the cold touch of his skin and bit her cheek to suppress a sob. She dug around her pocket for pennies but was beat to the mark by her brothers. They dropped to their knees, genuflecting.

_And Shepherds we shall be,  
for thee my Lord for thee.  
Power hath descended forth from thy hand,_

"That our feet may swiftly carry out they command,"

Connor and Murphy cocked their guns and turned swiftly to face the owner of the voice. He wore dark glasses and a black page-boy hat. A large vest decorated with guns. An obnoxious looking cigar hung out of his mouth and he spoke around it, voice thick with accent.

"We shall flow a river forth unto thee…"  
"And teeming with souls shall it ever be."

The old man finished the prayer and tucked his guns away. Rose approached him unsure just of why. Before that moment Noah hadn't realized how much she looked like Annabelle; her freckled cheeks, strawberry blonde hair, the hard, determined glare in her eyes and his own full lips.

"I never met you…Rosemary." He whispered removing his hat and glasses unsure of whether to embrace her or keep his distance.  
The boys grew defensive and pulled Rose behind them as the old man faced them. "Connor. Murphy." He said.

The twins glanced at each other in confusion. They had recognized the old bastard, the same man who had stung them with bullets. Their expressions spoke their own language:  
_Must've gotten the facts from the job.  
No man, who would've said anything? He knows us. The prayer…_

"Da'?" Rose placed her hands gently on her brothers' guns to lower them and faced the man before them in disbelief.


	10. Chapter 10: Ethics

_Getting back into the groove I think. I've had to go over previous chapters and refresh to keep up._

_Chapter Ten: Ethics_

Had Paul not awakened to the smell of death he would have had to face the convoy of the Boston police department in drag. He had rushed out in a scramble thankful for the cover of darkness. His head throbbed with guilt. There was no doubt in his mind the boys had been taken in and shown the traditional 'Yakavetta hospitality'. He could imagine it now, the twins made all the more symmetrical with matching missing fingers. And what of their sister? He sighed angrily, flagging down a cab. There were too many questions and too few answers.

The cabbie stifled a giggle as Paul crawled in the back seat. He figured he must have been a sight. Hair disheveled, makeup a wreck, crotch prominent. He hadn't the time to hide it on his way out. A small part of him had wanted the cabbie to say something, anything out of line but he remained silent for the remainder of the trip. Paul tossed him a fifty and told him to keep his mouth shut ignoring the use of his feminine voice. He had exercised it enough for one night.

Duffy, Greenly, and Dolly were growing accustomed to the sight of dead gangsters. Had they been in a different line of work it would have been a comforting thought. The ritual pennies and crossed arms on the dead were the norm at a homicide scene. Paul strode into the foyer of the mansion almost too comfortably, putting on a haughty grin to disguise his fatigue. He was anxious to see that room. He could vaguely remember the gangsters talking about it after he had killed Geno in the bathroom. The detectives greeted him somberly as if in waiting for his next round of heckling. Instead Paul ignored them, drifting past with his own ambitions. He followed a trail of smeared blood to a plain white door that stood apart from the rest of the interior decor. He pushed the door open and a wafting scent of rot greeted him. Two gangsters sprawled across the floor covered in wood splinters and one hairy victim cuffed to a chair. _It's not them. _ He assured himself. _They got out somehow. They're safe. _ Aware of the detectives following behind him, Paul muttering to each group until the forensics team cleared out and the four were left alone.

He approached the cuffed corpse. The furry face of David Della Rocco sat tranquil beneath a pair of pennies. His jaw tightened in remorse. _Guess your luck ran out, eh cowboy?_

Paul imagined the boys were in trouble of getting themselves caught this time. They would be distraught by Rocco's death and badly wounded. They would be careless from adrenaline. He only hoped their sister hadn't accompanied them.

"I want you three to tell me what you think of all this." He said without turning to them.

"It's obviously whoever hit the Russians." Greenly snorted tucking his hands under his armpits. "Hired gun ah somethin'. Got the pennies, crossed arms, the works. Can't be retaliation…."

"No. I mean about this whole situation. As much as I hate to say it Green Beans I think your good guy - bad guy theory is the best we have to go on right now. I mean, just think about the balance of this thing. All the Vics have been mobsters, mob-related, or criminals…Justice at it's finest, gentlemen. This is our wet dream come true!" He threw his arms up in showcase of the dead gangsters muddled on the floor.

"No disrespect. I think whoever is pulling this shit off is making us look bad." Duffy said. "But if we're being completely honest…I also think they're doing the world a huge favour."

"That's the spirit. Dolly?"

"Can't say I haven't wanted to snuff some of the lowlifes we've hauled in before myself."

"Woah, woah, woah. Wait a minute….Are we becomin' suspects ah somethin'? " Greenly's eyes widened.

"No." Paul said bordering on irritation. "No, but I'm sure at one point or another you've felt bound by all this red tape every time a child molester gets off free, every time you see a woman raped with no evidence to convict the perp…"

"So what do we do about all this?" Duffy cut in. "What are you getting at?"

"There's a difference between doing a job well and doing a job ethically, gentlemen. I think we're like-minded enough to know that these boys aren't evil men. They're sending a message of their own."

"Boys?" Dolly's eyes widened. "Those MacManus boys?"

"I knew it!" Greenly snorted. "Fack, who'd think they'd be capable of something like this, ah?"

Paul groaned.

As Paul slowly revealed bits of information about the boys, their motives and inspiration there was awe amongst the detectives. He had taken a risk by telling them, but what hadn't been risky lately? They were dumbfounded by the accuracy and practical genius on the crime scenes. For all intents and purposes they should have been embarrassed. Instead it was replaced by inspiration. Pleased with the detectives' new love of the vigilantes Paul granted them an ounce of respect.

"So, what about the sister?" Duffy asked. "What's her part in all this?"

"I know she's been at every one of their scenes but only from what the boys have told me. There's no evidence and anything we do have is inconclusive. However, I am of the belief that her brothers aren't too fond of her tagging along. I think she serves better as damage control and moral support than as a zealot."

"Good lookin' girl too." Greenly added. "I don't blame them for wanting to keep that safe."

"Smart girl." Paul corrected. "Not your type."

Duffy and Dolly grinned.

"Why are you telling us all this?" Duffy said.

"Because despite a few minor intellectual speed bumps, you cops are alright. I think in helping them, you help your city. I'm not saying go out and tamper with evidence, but use a little…finesse. Subtlety, boys. Subtlety."

They cleared out as the forensics team began bagging bodies. Media sharks swarmed the front gates, cameras flashing nonstop. Paul lit a cigarette, took a deep drag and forced himself not to grimace. He waded through the ocean of microphones trying to reach the cruiser for a moment of silence to be alone with his thoughts.

As the day drifted to an end Paul was relieved to find himself in a soft bed. A small part of him was anxious about revealing information to a rookie detective and two boneheads, but he trusted his gut on this one. They weren't completely dense. A little naïve, but that was remedied with experience. As he sunk into his sheets, hoping to let his mind go blank the phone rang.

"Hello?"

"Agent Smecker? It's Murphy"

"Jesus Fuckin' Christ. I don't know how you-"

"He's our Da…" Murphy said.

"What? The old man?"

"Aye. It's a long story but he's the one who saved our arses. Look, we just wanted to tell ya that we're alright. We're gonna lay low for a while, but this shit with Yakavetta isn't over. Figured we'd give ya some warnin'"

"So you're sticking around."

"Seems that way."

"Let me know if you boys need help. I've got a few badges that like your work."

"Aye, that we will. We'll be in touch."

A small smile curled the ends of Paul's lips.

Murphy hung up the phone and tossed it onto the couch of Rose's apartment. Exhaustion carved dark circles under his eyes and added age to his boyish features. He settled himself into the couch watching as Connor examined his wrist. Fortunately, the bones remained under the skin but black and purple bruises were beginning to cloud between his few angled fingers. He stared at it in attempt to figure a way of wrapping the mass without proper medical aid. Prodding it and wincing he figured he'd have no choice.

"Goin' out."

Murphy nodded and stared blankly as the door shut behind him. Moments later Rose emerged from the hall, her light pajamas and towel-wrapped hair contrasting hard against her bruised face. Her eye had puffed up. She looked at Murphy who continued to stare at nothing. Hot tears began to roll down his cheeks. She sat beside him and touched his shoulder.

"Fuckin' stupid bastard had to follow us."

"I know."

"The fuck was he thinkin'!"

"Shh." She cooed, fighting off her own tears. "He tried to protect us the only way he knew how. You can't blame him for that."

"We've gotta kill this bastard Rosie…" He sniffed, clearing his throat to disguise a sob.

She nodded. "Give it time. We'll wait for the opportunity."

"Connor and I wait for the opportunity." He said staring at her purple face. "You're too much of damsel, y'know. You give them ammunition…"

She stiffened, glaring at him.

"Go to bed Rose."

Despite the hard couch, Murphy fell asleep within minutes. Rose however, stayed awake. She gazed into the stucco of her ceiling until it began to froth into obscurity. Rocco, Yakavetta, …their father… She saw herself in him. For all the looks the boys took from their mother, she was like _him_. It had been a strange incident. She was unsure of whether or not to feel sadness or anger at his absence from their lives and who to direct it toward. Their mother rarely spoke of him and they had hardly paid the stranger a thought. She wondered what her mother would say if she told her. The woman was impossible to predict.

Their father had little time to explain anything to them other than to meet him when things had died down. The way he looked at her was haunting. His eyes told of an unfathomable sadness and she realized somehow that she had missed this strange man. She wanted to cry, but grief made her weary and eventually she slipped into an uneasy sleep.

Connor returned with a fresh bandage on his wrist. His stomach gnawed at him and his eyes were heavy with fatigue. He was thankful for the clinic's open door policy. No questions asked, no questions answered. After half the things those doctors witnessed in South Boston, an Irishman with a broken wrist was nothing spectacular. Ignoring his sleeping brother, Connor flicked the television on. He flipped through channels searching aimlessly through the after-midnight drabble American television offered. Talk shows, commercials, and soft-core porn littered the screen. He sighed passing through the cycle of channels several times over until the grey morning light slipped into the room.


	11. Chapter 11: The Plan

_Thanks again for all the __**patience,**__subscriptions, reviews, and support! You guys are great! Bit of a recap/re-quoting from a previous chapter with Murph and Connor's perspective._

_Chapter Eleven:__ The Plan_

Rose had been sitting in an empty apartment for the last hour. A cup of cold coffee remained untouched on the counter and she folded her hands neatly on her lap, thinking. Her brothers were notorious for disappearing without warning but this time felt different. She scolded herself. Even their mother knew well enough to give the boys freedom when they needed it. Then again, Ma didn't really have a choice.

She forced herself to stop obsessing. The schoolwork she had remaining sat as a painful reminder of neglected responsibility. Pulling it over she decided Connor and Murphy would have to wait. She was lucky enough that she hadn't suffered any severe penalties despite having missed over a week of school. She could hardly remember when all the craziness began. It seemed to have all gone by so fast and taken so far she had shirked every other responsibility she had. Her mind flashed to Doc and she wrote herself a note to call him whenever she found her way through the pile.

"It don't feel right." Murphy grumbled to his twin as they crossed the empty streets.

Connor ignored him.

"Are you listenin' ta me? We just bailed on our own flesh and blood." He tried to control his voice.

Silence save for a minor throat clearing.

"fuck you."

Murphy had known from the moment he saw the look on Connor's face that morning they'd leave Rose behind. It upset him and yet he knew she'd be safer this way. They all would. He grit his teeth and kept silent. They wandered for a while, both unsure of where to stop. The sun was beginning to rise and a gradual whir of traffic filled the streets.

"Fitch." Connor's voice deepened.

"Are ya fuckin' crazy, man?"

"Have ya got any better fuckin' ideas?"

"Doc, ah, maybe Da' for Christ's sake. T'ot you might have another brilliant 'plan' lined up."

"Shut it, c'mon."

The boys found Fitch hunched over his workbench whistling to himself. When he turned to face them a mischievous grin was on his face.

"So it was you two, ah? Should've known the MacManus boys were up to no good again."

The twins looked at each other. Their distaste for the man slightly irked.

"Don't worry, I'm on yer side. You've got quite the followin'."

"Listen, Shaemus." Murphy said earnestly. "We need a place to lay low for a while. Our place was trashed and Rosie…"

Shaemus' eyes brightened at the name.

"We really don't want to be gettin' her involved in all this shit." Connor finished.

"Understood." He stood up and lead them to a curtain. Beyond it, a back room stacked with boxes upon boxes of bullets. "Y'er welcome to stay for a while at least."

"We've got some business to attend to first and we'll be out of your hair. Thanks man." Murphy pat him on the shoulder and curled up on a clear spot of the concrete.

"Listen boys, I've got a customer comin' in real soon, so I'd keep yourselves hidden." Shaemus nodded at them, shut the door, and yanked the curtain over.

Several minutes later two sets of footsteps echoed through the small hallway. Muffled voices muttered back and forth. Connor and Murphy's heads were to the door trying to overhear anything of importance.

"You sure we can trust this asshole?" Murphy said concentrating.

"Doesn't appear we have a choice, now does it?"

"You can cut the high and mighty bullshit, alright? It was your series of stupid fuckin' plans that got us into this mess."

"Don't you fuckin' start with me now Murph, not now."

"You're a fuckin' retard, have I told ya that lately?"

Amidst their argument the conversation beyond the door had grown heated. The customer was growing suspicious and began making his way toward the hidden room. Connor and Murphy instinctively flew to either side of the door. They didn't have a weapon but they'd pull him in and grapple him until they did.

As the curtain was pulled the voices grew clearer, both strong with Irish accent. The boys glanced at each other and as the door swung open an old man with a cigar poking out from behind a gray beard strode in.

"You two keep bickerin' like that an' you're sure to get yarselves killed." His voice was calm and commanding. He glared at his sons.

Connor and Murphy exchanged a heated look and emerged from their hiding spots, tails between their legs. Noah exhaled and motioned for the boys to follow him. Shaemus returned to his bench, labouring over a large shotgun of sorts. Noah encouraged them to sit and took a slow puff of his cigar. Before he could say a word Connor cut in:

"How far are we gonna take this Da'?"

"The question is not of how far... The question is, do you possess the constitution and the depth of faith to go as far is as needed…"

"Well I'd say we've sent a pretty clear fuckin' message don't you?" Murphy grumbled kicking his feet up on the small coffee table.

"Aye, but ya never leave a job unfinished boy."

Connor lowered his voice, "What about Fitch?"

"Shaemus is a good lad, he might deal with the wrong crowd but he's a good man and hails from a good family. You both know that." Noah inhaled another puff. "B'sides, you two are comin' with me anyway. 'Only reason I came here was to find out where you two've been hiding."

"Rose put us up for the night." Murphy said conscience-ridden.

Noah looked at his son watched as the pain surfaced and subsided on his face as he spoke. He felt ashamed of himself that he couldn't know the depth of the sibling relationship between his children. Ashamed that after finishing off Yakavetta he would never know his daughter. He knew well enough that Murphy didn't want to leave her. That part of his son was terrified that the mob would come after her in retaliation… If they knew.

"It's for the best son." He said finally. "You can't protect her forever."

Murphy didn't look at his father; instead he let his eyes wander awkwardly.

"Now, I think we've spent enough of Shaemus' time. Meet me at my flat; 22 Addison Street, take different streets and we'll discuss what we're going to do with Yakavetta."

Noah left first, followed shortly after by Connor. Murphy remained seated debating whether or not the leap of faith was worth abandoning the only thing he ever felt was worth protecting. He swallowed his pride and took a seat beside Shaemus as he tinkered with a silencer.

"I need to ask ya a favour."

"Aye."

"Shit might get heavy… Can ya just – can ya watch over my sister?"

A stunned look crossed Shaemus' handsome features.

"Like she were me very own."

"And I don't mean fuckin' hittin' on her every four minutes. I mean, look out for her like Connor or I would… I dunno what's going to happen."

"Yeh got it man." He extending his hand and before Murphy could hesitate, grabbed his and shook it firmly.

As he walked along Addison Street, Murphy couldn't help but remember what Shaemus and his siblings were like back home. They had gotten along well as kids, more often than not picking on Rose until she'd leave them alone. After all it wasn't 'cool' to have a freckled, pigtailed little sister follow them around.

As they got older and Rose began to mature, the boys in town had started to take notice. As a teenager Shaemus knew he was handsome and was adored by all the girls – all except Rose. From what the boys had gathered she thought Shaemus to be foppish and arrogant. Yet, Connor and Murphy would hear of Shaemus' sexual triumphs and laugh. How foolish those girls had been to fall for a man like Shaemus Fitch.

As Shaemus slowly started developing a keen interest in Rose, the boys began watching him more closely. It wasn't as though they didn't trust her judgment but rather that Shaemus didn't get carried away. Despite warnings from them Shaemus continued to chase Rose. She laughed at him on occasion, but more often than not found herself slamming the door in his face whenever he'd come around. Then, the night before Rose was to leave for America, Murphy found Rose and Shaemus talking. He had been afraid she had cracked and Connor was ready to throttle him then and there. Instead, they ended up listening:

"_What are you doin' here?" She whispered angrily._

"_Had ta see ya before ya go." He smiled and touched her knee._

"_Piss off." _

"_Rosie, please." His eyes pleaded for attention. "Just one?"_

"_No Shaemus. I told you already." Angry tears pricked her eyes._

"_It's only for a few years love and I'll wait for you."_

If not for Rose being directly related to them, the boys would have came out cackling at "Lady Killer Fitch" getting shut down. Instead they grew angry. The sly bastard had targeted their sister. It seemed even when she was sure she was alone, Rose kept her guard up. Murphy could tell by the way they looked at each other that there had been a spark. He had missed something.

Murphy ran his fingers through his hair and sighed. As much as he hated to admit it, Connor was right; there were bigger things to worry about. He felt a pang of guilt for wanting to watch her so closely. She'd probably bitch about it anyway. His thoughts drifted to Rocco and a steady rage replaced his familial concern. Yakavetta would come first and he would pay for every life he stole, including that of Murphy and Connor's.

As Murphy went to knock on the door he could already hear Connor's voice.

"Dere was this new report about Yakavetta's trial. What about that? We get in and send him home."

Noah opened the door for his son. "Could work. Lots of security to get by, chances of us gettin' in are slim, gettin' out – suicidal."

"Aye." Murphy said. "But, we've got some friends on the inside."

"Y'think Smecker would go for tha?"

"Can't see why not." Murphy grinned darkly. "He hates that asshole more than we do."


End file.
